


firebrand

by mindelan



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Porn with Feelings, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, enemies is a loose definition, oh no...there's only one bed.......let's ignore the couch and share it...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2020-06-03 02:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 103,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindelan/pseuds/mindelan
Summary: It starts with an offer presented to a Wobani inmate six months into her twenty year sentence: “Work with the police to stop the Partisans. In exchange, you’ll be released from prison.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> loosely influenced/inspired by [TinCanTelephone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinCanTelephone/pseuds/TinCanTelephone)'s [On My Way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11751186/chapters/26484489). It's absolutely wonderful and y'all should definitely check it out! i love how cassian and jyn are portrayed there.

There’s a woman shouting on the other end of Kay’s phone call, audible even with the receiver pressed to his ear and cutting through the usual clammer of the precinct. Kay looks unperturbed, which means it’s nothing serious; most people call 911 with the real emergencies – _they_ usually get yelled at because a pothole hasn’t been filled yet or to come investigate a teenage house party with a noise complaint. 

Cassian scribbles a doodle on his notepad, the words on the page blurring under his unfocused gaze. His computer has long turned off in his lack of use; he _knows_ he has to get this report done for Draven before he leaves tonight, but he can’t see to keep his attention on one thing. His focus darts all over the office, but keeps bouncing back to the sounds on the other end of the call. 

From the desk next to him, Kay says calmly, “Can you hold?” 

The woman yells something along the lines of _“No, I can’t fucking hold – “_ before Kay cuts her off with the click of a button. 

“She sounds friendly,” Cassian muses, smirking at Kay’s exasperation. His partner stares down at the phone as if his gaze alone could set it on fire, the woman’s voice replaced by the hold music, which sounds as if it had been taken straight out of an 80’s porn video. 

“I would hardly call Jyn Erso _friendly_ ,” Kay mutters, tone so quietly scathing that Cassian barely hears it. “Now – “ 

That name gets his attention. The shouting he’d heard only seconds before – Erso’s _normally_ loud and pissed off, but she doesn’t call the precinct often. He’d hardly call the prickly ex-con his friend, but something doesn’t sit right with him. 

His eyebrows furrow, meeting in the middle of his forehead. A hundred different circumstances float around in his mind, all thoughts of his report forgotten. “What does she want?” 

“She supposedly has ‘information,’” Kay says, rolling his eyes, “but she’ll only talk to you. She said I don’t listen nearly as well as you did – which, based on our last health exam, is false. My hearing actually came back _better_ – “ 

“Focus, please.” Cassian resists the urge to bang his head against the table, and settles for pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers instead. 

“She kept cursing at me, so I put her on hold,” he remarks. As if controlling some important, life-or-death decision, he makes eye-contact with Cassian and hovers his finger over a button on the phone. “Do you want to talk to her?” 

It’s better than staring at a blank word document that won’t get written anytime soon. “Doubt I’ll have any more luck, but sure.” 

He clicks a button, raising the phone to his ear. Immediately, he’s assaulted by the screeching voice of Jyn Erso, yelling just about every obscenity she can think. 

_“ – you son of a bitch, I cannot believe you put me on hold! You absolute motherfucker – “_

“Andor speaking.” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath from her end, the continuous line of cursing coming to a halt at the sign of Cassian’s voice. After a beat, she mutters, _“Fucking finally.”_

Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea; Cassian can already feel a headache coming on. While Jyn’s been his informant for a little over a month now, the two of them have barely made any progress. It’s only at her insistence that she has good information that she remains with the police force and out of prison, but even Draven’s losing his patience with her. Sooner or later, she’ll be back in Wobani where she belongs and out of his hair. 

(That’s what he keeps telling himself, anyway. These days, it gets a little harder to convince himself that Jyn Erso is a criminal, one worthy of prison.) 

“Kay said you have something for me?” 

_“Yeah, I got something,”_ she shoots back, and it’s only now that he notices how her words come out slightly slurred. _“I was at work and Quix came in. It’s dark in there, so she didn’t recognize me ‘til she offered me a smoke. We went outside and then. . .”_

“Then what?” 

_“She got away.”_ There’s an odd note in Jyn’s voice, one that he can’t identify.

Something’s wrong – that has to be it. His pulse begins to quicken, fingers drumming out an anxious beat against his desk. Kay looks at him questioningly, but Cassian waves him off. “Erso, are you all right? Where are you?” 

_“Listen,”_ she tells him, as if he’s not already hanging on her every word, _“she got away. Headin’ north on 94th, I think. There’s a. . .mhm, a safe house. Down that way.”_

“What’s the address?” If she’s fading, he needs all of the information he can get out of her first. An informant is no good if they can’t relay information. 

As soon as she relays what she knows, he’s scribbling out directions on his notepad for Kay. Once he’s deciphered what Jyn’s telling him, he slides it onto his partner’s desk, jabbing it with his pointer finger and underlining it again with his pen to highlight its importance.

Kay gets the message quickly, choosing not to argue for once in his life. He seems to sense the urgency of the situation based on the look on Cassian’s face; though moments ago they’d been groaning in irritation over the prospect of dealing with Jyn Erso, there’s now a chance of finally bagging a criminal that the department has been chasing for weeks. 

Aneisa Quix. An “associate” of Jyn’s back from her Partisan days. The woman is wanted on charges of drug running and dealing – once they get her off the street, there will be a sharp decline in the spice trade throughout the city. He’s not so foolish to think that one arrest will change the criminal underground, but it’s _something_. 

He tries again, biting down on his desperation. “Where are you? I need your location.” 

_“Don’t you lot have all my devices tapped?”_

_Right._ He boots up his computer once again, shoving the phone in between his shoulder and neck to keep it up against his ear as he opens up the police database. “I need you to stay where you are, okay? Kay’s getting a patrol together to go after Quix; I’m coming to you.” 

(It doesn’t even occur to him to send someone else after Jyn. For as much as she irritates and gets on his nerves, he doesn’t trust anyone else with her.

He tells himself it’s because he can’t go out into the field, that he would only be a burden to Kay if he does. By getting Jyn, he’s being as useful as possible.)

 _“Just give me a few seconds and I’ll be goin’ after her myself,_ ” she growls out, and he groans in frustration at her stubbornness. 

“Stay where you are,” he repeats, his words coming out an order before he remembers that Jyn usually does the exact opposite of what he says – _especially_ when he talks to her like this. 

On his screen, he’s finally gotten a read on her location. He scribbles down the coordinates of the bar she’s at and grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “I’m going to hang up and call you back on my cell, okay? I mean what I said, though. Stay – ” 

_“Stay where I am, yeah, yeah._ _See you soon, Andor.”_

Before he can reply, she hangs up on him. As he rushes out of the precinct and down to his squad car, he wonders just how much of an idiot he is for expecting Jyn to wait around for him. 

* * *

Jyn’s head fucking _aches_. 

It’s been about a minute since she’s gotten off the phone with Cassian, and a few more since Quix had bashed her skull into the wall. Every time she tries to stand, the world tilts around her and she goes sliding back to the ground. Angry at her own inability to stay on her feet, she digs her palms into the concrete she’s sitting on, letting her head thud gently against the wall of the alley. 

From her left, her cell phone rings once again, the noise grating against the throbbing in her head. Blindly, she fumbles for the device from where she’d thrown it earlier and answers it without looking at the number. “Erso.” 

_“Good, you’re still with me,”_ Cassian says from the other end of the line. _“Please tell me you haven’t moved. The last thing I want to do today is chase both you and Quix around the city.”_

“Not for lack of trying,” she says sullenly, forcing her eyes to refocus as the landscape swirls before her gaze. She needs a couple painkillers – strong ones – and preferably a hard drink, too. “Got eyes on her yet?” 

_“Haven’t heard back from Kay, but they’re heading to the safe house now. They’re planning to lay in and wait. Of course, that’s assuming she doesn’t get there beforehand. She left on foot, yes?”_

“Probably.” One of the more unfortunate side effects of a concussion is the tendency to black-out at the most inopportune moments. When Jyn had awoken, Quix hadn’t been there. “I don’t know.” 

_“How?”_ he sounds irritated, which is nothing new – not for them. Cassian’s a pain in her ass just as much she is in his, but he’s better than the other officers she’d been paired with fresh out of prison. At least Andor listens, even if he’s not happy about it. That’s more that can be said about his partner, at least. Kay has a tendency to ignore almost everything that comes out of her mouth.

“Didn’t see her go,” she mumbles, rolling her head back and forth against the wall. There’s blood drying on the back of her neck, making her shirt stick uncomfortably to her skin. “I woke up and she wasn’t here anymore.” 

_“‘Woke up?’ Jesus, Erso - !”_

“Hey!” she argues, though there’s not much fight left in her right now. What she really wants to do is sleep. “‘S’not my fault she fuckin’ slammed me into a bunch of bricks.” 

_“Would it kill you to stay out of a fight for five minutes?”_ he growls back. As if he were in front of her, she can imagine how he must be running his hand over his face as he says it. _“Stay where you are – I’m_ serious _, Erso. I’ll be there in two minutes. Think you can stay awake for that long?”_

“Don’t patronize me, you bastard.”

_“I’ll do it if it means you’re conscious.”_

“Wonderful,” she drawls, wishing she had less pride so she wouldn’t feel the urge to have the last word. His tactics, however _unique_ , are working; she’s not about to let comments like that go without a snide retort. “Buy me a drink first, would ya’, Andor?” 

_“You’re the bartender; buy_ me _one instead.”_

It’s not like she even has enough money for that – her rent’s due by the end of the week and she’s barely managed to scrounge up enough to pay her landlord. Even with the “worker’s discount,” it’s far too much of a luxury for her to justify buying a beer or two. 

(Stealing’s a good option, though, especially when her boss is too drunk to notice that she’s skimming a couple of bottles off the top. She doesn’t think the captain will appreciate that bit of criminality, however.)

She’s just opening her mouth to reply when the sound of tires on gravel interrupts her. Hanging up the phone and tossing it aside, she rolls her head to the side and grins up at Cassian as he steps out of his car. 

“Thought you said you were comin’ in two minutes,” she says sourly. He, in a classic Cassian move, just looks down at her and sighes. 

“A ‘thank you’ would be appreciated,” he mutters, pushing his aviators up onto his head, messing up his hair in the process. “I did break the law in trying to get here faster, you know.” 

“Bet you only went one mile over the speed limit. Fuckin’ cops.” 

“Five over, actually,” he comments dryly, the hint of a smile on his face. “Practically a terrible offense for a detective. Now, c’mon. Let me look at your head.” 

He crouches down next to her, knees popping. He lets out a breath at that, sounding slightly pained, and she wonders – not for the first time – if it’s an old injury that’s put him on grunt work and babysitting duty. His partner’s doing the exciting jobs, after all – and here he is, stuck with her. 

His hands hover over her scalp awkwardly, as if being this close to her makes him nervous, before asking, “May I?” 

At least his mother raised him with polite sensibilities. She snorts, amused that someone like her is the intended target; she can’t remember the last time someone has spoken to her like that. Usually, people take what they want without asking first. “Do whatever you like. It’s not like I have much of a choice, is it?” 

“You always have a choice,” he murmurs, so soft that she barely hears it. When he probes her wound, however, the moment ends; she grits her jaw to keep from flinching away from him as he tugs at the matted hair around the abrasion. 

“That’s quite enough of that,” she snaps when the pain gets to be too much, sliding a few feet down the wall so she’s not so close to him, their skin no longer touching. “What’s the verdict, doctor?” 

“It’s too dirty for me to see properly, but,” he says, leaning back on his heels, “I don’t think you need stitches. You should still get it checked out properly, though. There’s a rather concerning lump there – you might have fractured your skull.” 

Right then. She can probably ask her next-door neighbor to help her out with that if necessary, if he’s not too coked out of his mind to focus on the motion of the needle and thread. She’s not too concerned, though. If Cassian says she only _probably_ needs stitches, then she’ll be able to survive without. 

And a fracture? There’s not much she can do for that, unless she wants to walk around with bandages swaddled around her head. That is not a fate that she plans on subjecting herself to. 

First, though. First they stop Quix. 

A rival would be the wrong word to describe the other woman. Though her and Jyn had never been openly antagonistic during Jyn’s years with Saw, there was always a feeling of resentment that had hung in the air between them. Jyn never knew why, never asked. She has her suspicions, especially in retrospect; if she has to guess, it has to do with the relationship she shared with her godfather. Quix has no family of her own, and the emotion simmering between them had felt a bit like jealousy. 

And now there must be something more malicious between them. She’d heard the rumors that had been passed around when Saw abandoned her – that Jyn had betrayed the gang, that she’d been caught and had gone to the police with a plea deal. Quix had bashed Jyn’s skull in because of some sort of misguided form of loyalty ten years later; even though Saw is no longer in charge of the gang, his influence still clearly shines through, guiding the members’ morals. 

If anyone’s going to catch her, it’s going to be Jyn. Quix is a Partisan, and Jyn knows their dealings intimately. How they fight, how they act, how easy it is to be caught off guard when least expecting it. Kay and his squadron have little chance of stopping her alone, which is why Jyn needs to act quickly.

Cassian speaks for her. “We should get you up,” he says, standing and reaching down to help her, arms outstretched and clearly expecting her to take them. 

She bats away his hands and tries to stand herself (never mind the fact that her first dozen attempts without his assistance had led to nothing). When gets to her feet and stumbles, nearly falling back to the ground, it’s only Cassian that manages to keep her upright, one arm slung around her back until she steadies herself. 

“Thanks,” she mutters, because she has manners, too – even if she’s irritated that she has to use them on the likes of an _officer_. 

Jyn steps away. The motion makes her dizzy, but she places her hand on the wall instead of using Cassian as balance. The line of where his arm had been burns like a brand even through her clothes and against her skin. The sun seems so much brighter now that she’s upright. When she squints upwards into the sky, she immediately flinches back, pressing a hand to her eyes as if she’d been burned by the light. 

“Here,” he says, offering her his yellow-tinted aviators after a moment’s struggle, the lenses getting caught in his hair. “You’ve probably got a concussion. Put these on.” 

She grabs them with her free hand and slips them onto her face, the relief is almost immediate. It doesn’t do much for the headache making itself known in her left temple, but it’s a help all the same. 

Why does he bother? She muses absently, staring at him through the yellow lenses. There is no kind feelings between them, only professionalism (if that). His entire demeanor today has negated that; he’s been kind – _caring,_ even. It unnerves her, makes her think that he wants something. If not now, perhaps in the future. 

And she despises being in someone else’s debt. 

If they can catch Quix, perhaps she won’t owe him anything. It might be enough for him, to have another arrest underneath his belt. 

The quickest route is by Cassian’s car, even with the delay from her injury. However, when she takes a single step forward and nearly collapses on her face, the look on Cassian’s face tells her that he’s not going to be so agreeable to escorting her to a firefight. As much as he apparently dislikes her, she’s useful to his superiors – and as long as she remains that way, she stays both free and alive. 

“We’re going to a clinic,” he orders her, grabbing her by the bicep and hauling her up again before she lands on the ground, “ _now._ ” 

“No,” she tugs at his grip but he won’t let go, increasing both her frustration and desperation. “ _No._ I can’t.” 

“Why the hell not?” he growls. “If you die out here because of your stubbornness, Draven will have _my_ head for it.” 

He’s being dramatic – she’s not going to die from a small head wound. She’s had much worse injuries in the past without major consequences to her health. When she tells him that, however, he won’t budge on the issue, insisting that she needs to at least be checked out by a proper doctor. 

“Andor, _stop_ ,” she swallows, shaking her head. For once, her pride comes second to her common sense; her pitiful salary as a bartender barely pays the bills and a hospital trip would practically drain her accounts. “I can’t, okay? I can’t go to a fuckin’ clinic because I can’t afford it.” 

Her words have their intended effect. He stops, nostrils flaring, though his hand is still gently locked around her wrist, careful not to bruise her. After a moment thinking, he says, “The precinct will pay for it. You got injured on the job.” 

“I don’t work for you,” she tells him, then cuts him off when his mouth opens, “Not officially. I’m not here because I _want_ to be. If it doesn’t end up working out. . .I don’t need to be in debt, too.” 

His jaw works as he mulls over that. “What would you do instead?” 

“What I always do,” she says firmly, raising her chin. “Take care of it myself.” 

“It’s on the back of your head. How the hell are you going to reach it?” 

“I do have friends, you know,” she tells him, raising a brow with the tiniest bit of amusement. _“Friends”_ is a loose word – in her case, the definition is more like people who wouldn’t shoot her directly in the front but would probably shoot her in the back for their own gain. It’s lonely, but she doesn’t mind. It’s much easier not to have any attachments, these days. 

(She’d learned the hard way, long ago, that nothing is permanent.) 

Clearly frustrated, he wipes a hand over his forehead and glares down at her. It’s clear that that this situation isn’t ideal to him, though she’s not sure why he cares so much about her health. “I swear, if I find you dead in your apartment tomorrow – ” 

“You won’t. And if you do, that’s tomorrow’s problem.” 

“Jesus _Christ_ , Erso.” 

“If it makes you feel better, you can drop me off at my apartment later,” she says nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders as if it doesn’t matter either way. Going on the bus with blood in her hair, however, isn’t preferable; while it might scare some people off, others will see her as an easy and vulnerable target, as she’s already injured.

“Later?” he questions, raising a brow. His face is stern, not approving. “How about now?” 

“We have to get to that safe house,” she reminds him, taking the final few steps to the car and pulling impatiently on the locked door handle like an impatient child. “If I’m not there, Kay’s team is going to get destroyed – ” 

“Are you serious? We’re not going to the safe house – I’m going to drop you off then go back to the office. Kay is perfectly capable – ” 

“Really? He’s _capable?_ Has he ever trained with Saw? Does he know his methods, huh? Does he, Detective Andor?” 

“Enough!” Cassian nearly shouts, tall form looming over her. She doesn’t back down, chin up and eyes hard. “I’m taking you home so you can get yourself cleaned up. That’s. It.” 

It’s clear that she’s not going to get any help from him, then. That’s fine – she doesn’t need his help. Once she takes care of her head wound, she’ll head out herself. It’ll be better without him anyway, she tells herself. Whatever’s wrong with him – an injury, an illness – would just slow her down. 

“Fine,” she says lightly, a hint of sarcasm lacing her voice. “Let’s get going, then.” 

With one hand on the car, Jyn makes her way to the other side of the vehicle and slips into the passenger seat. It’s a strange feeling, being in the front of a police car instead of the back. When she tells Cassian this, he only huffs out a laugh, some of the earlier irritation slipping away. 

“I _should_ put you back there,” he mutters as she messes with the radio, putting on a loud pop song to bother him. 

“I haven’t actually done anything wrong today,” she points out with mock-seriousness. 

“For once in your life.” 

“Didn’t do anything yesterday, either.” 

“Sure,” he agrees easily, not believing a word she says. “Remind me again where you live?” 

“Turn left here,” she says, resting her head on the back of the seat, eyes half-lidded and lazy. Cassian’s a careful driver, making sure not to hit any potholes – a challenge once he gets to her street. “What, you don’t have my address tucked away in your files?” 

“We do. I just don’t have it memorized.” 

“Shocker,” she shoots back, strangely enjoying this banter they’re exchanging. Once she realizes that, however, her walls go flying back up. It shouldn’t be this way. He’s a cop, she’s an ex-con. They were never meant to get along. “It’s the last building on this block.” 

When he parks on the side of the road, she very nearly bolts out of the car, only to be stopped by Cassian shoving something into her hands. A simple, small first-aid kit. At her questioning look, he mutters, not meeting her gaze, “It’ll make me feel better if you have this, okay?” 

It’s almost as if he’s _embarrassed._

She rolls her eyes but takes it anyway, wondering why her heart feels so tight in her chest and why her face reddens slightly at the gesture. It’s kind – not something she’s used to these days. “I’m not completely helpless, you know.” 

“I know,” he says firmly, and she believes that he does. “I do. Just take it. You can give it back the next time we meet.” 

She doesn’t know what to say to that, mouth slamming shut and jaw clenching. The last thing she’d expected was for him to agree. With that, she ducks her head, ignoring the pain from the motion. Her demeanor changes completely, going cold in seconds; before she slams the door and stalks away, she mutters, “Bye, Andor.” 

As if stunned by her sudden exit, Cassian’s car doesn’t move for a couple seconds, not until she gets inside. But once she’s inside her complex, she watches him leave through the grimy glass door closing her off from the outside. 

She doesn’t even know why she’s upset – or if she even _is_. There’s so many emotions churning in her head right now, ones that she doesn’t want to deal with. When she finally makes it up into her flat, hauling herself up the stairs with the assistance of the handrail, she tossed Cassian’s first-aid kit onto the table and leaves it there, completely untouched. 

She doesn’t need his handouts. 

In her small, dingy bathroom, she has a few supplies stored in the cabinet above the toilet – a handful of alcohol wipes, a variety of different bandages, some painkillers. She pops a few ibuprofens before staring at her appearance in the mirror, wrinkling her nose at the amount of blood on her neck; she looks like hell personified, a woman straight out of a horror movie. 

The water from her sink sputters when she turns it on, brown before it shifts to clear. She ducks her head underneath the faucet and begins to wash out the blood, probing the wound as she does so. As far as she can tell, the cut itself is quite small, but there’s a large bump where the majority of the pain is coming from – just as Cassian had said. A minor concussion, probably, but nothing life-threatening. 

Once she manages to get most of the blood out, she grabs a towel and wipes her neck dry. It’s easier to see now that she’s clean; though it’s difficult to twist her body and work through her hair, she manages to swab the area with an alcohol pad and slap a bandage on top of it. It’ll have to do for now – she doesn’t want to use more of her supplies than necessary, especially since she suspects she might have more pressing injuries once she confronts Quix. 

Time is of the essence now. Her apartment is a middle point between the bar and the safe house; she’ll only have to walk a couple blocks before she’s in the neighborhood where it’s located. It’s not a coincidence that she still lives in a hotspot of Partisan activity even after being released from prison. It’s one of the poorest parts of town – the only place an ex-con without any family or friends like her would be able to afford. 

The police don’t care about the possibility of her being attacked by former allies turned enemies. In fact, as of today, the only one who really seems to care about her well-being is Cassian, and – well, she really doesn’t want to think about that right now, not when she has other things to focus on. 

(He doesn’t really care, she tells herself yet again. He just wants something from her. They always do.)

She leaves her apartment at a quick jog, stumbling slightly a few times when the pain makes her vision tunnel. The pocket knife strapped to her ankle brings her a tiny modicum of comfort; it’s the only weapon she owns, as it’s small enough to hide from the police. While she wishes that she had something else to defend herself, she knows that, even injured, she’s still a good match for Quix. An advantage to being Saw’s goddaughter is that she’d received the very best of training. 

It’s a miracle she gets to the safe house without falling, pushing through the nausea and dizziness – only to see that it’s been cordoned off, yellow police tape surrounding the area and more cars pulling up. She doesn’t see Quix anywhere, not hiding in the shadows or in the back of vehicle, hands cuffed. 

So caught up in the commotion, nobody notices when she slinks away, pulling her hood up over her head to avoid detection. 

Later, when Cassian calls to tell her that Quix managed to get away, she just barely restrains herself from punching a hole in her wall. 

(If she had enough money to do so, she would have, would have destroyed it until her knuckles bled.

Instead, she’s left questioning why this failure bothers her so much.

 _Fuck_ – is she starting to _care?)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all! thanks for making it this far. im honestly very nervous about this fic bc i don't write much in modern verse for them, so any comments/kudos would be great appreciated. 
> 
> as of right now, i don't have a plan for an update schedule. more will come as soon as i'm able to write. i find that when i force myself to update once a week, etc. i lose my enthusiasm and produce work that isn't up to par – and that's the last thing i want. 
> 
> find me on tumblr at [athalar](https://athalar.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

“ _This_ is where you choose to bring me on a date, flyboy?” 

“Hey, hey! Don’t go gettin’ upset with me now!” Jyn can hear Han’s booming voice as soon as he steps into the bar, leading a woman not much larger than herself in on his arm. It’s not that he’s loud – his voice just fills the space. “Just a quick stop ‘fore we go to the main event, hmm?” 

The lady looks much too polished for the kind of bar that Jyn works in, but she would expect nothing less from Han’s charisma. Truly, she’s surprised that he’d even managed to get her in through the doors based on the appearance on the place along; his ability to convince people into thinking a bad idea is a good one, however, often manages to get him into situations he shouldn’t be in. 

Han steers the woman over to the bar, one hand haphazardly thrown over her slim shoulders. There’s plenty of other _nicer_ bars in _nicer_ parts of the city. This just seems like performance, like he’s putting her – _their_ life, because Han lives around here, too – on a stage. Slumming it in the poorer parts of Coruscant. Han’s a good guy, but she wouldn’t put something like this past him to show a date a good time. 

“Listen,” Han’s saying, “Jyn here is the best damn bartender on this side of town. She’ll take good care of us ‘fore we head out.” 

Jyn rolls her eyes, turning away from the couple to put a bottle back up on the shelf behind her. Her annoyance is feigned; with all that she puts up with, she knows Solo’s always remembers to tip well – and just so happens that she could use an extra couple bucks right now. 

(She had to go to the pharmacy to get better bandages for her head. Cassian’s first-aid kid still lays untouched. She won’t use it – her pride won’t let her.

Only now she’s a couple bucks short on rent.) 

“Would you stop harassing this woman and let her do her job?” The tiny woman clearly has Han wrapped around her pinkie finger, tugging him away from the bar and likely trying to get him back out the door. They make for an interesting sight, the two of them looking and acting so different it’s almost dizzying to watch. 

“Harassin’? M’not – Jyn, am I harassing you?” 

“She’s working, she’s not going to say _no_ – ” 

“Oh, come on, Lei – ” 

Jyn just raises a brow and decides to interrupt their argument, setting down the glass she’d been cleaning and looking him in the eye. The question is direction to him; she’s got no qualms with his lady. “The hell you doing here, Solo?” 

“Like I said,” he says as he takes a seat from across the bar, long legs sprawling out in front of him, acting like he owns the place. “M’taking my girl out for a couple of drinks.” 

“I am _not_ your girl.” 

“Jyn, meet Leia Organa,” Han introduces with a smirk, clearly used to this kind of reaction. He gestures between the two of them like he’s some sort of gameshow host. “Leia, Jyn.” 

Now it’s Jyn’s turn for her to study Leia’s face. There’s a certain royalness to her demeanor, like she expects people to hang onto every word she says (in her defense, though, she probably has some important shit to tell). By her obvious distaste for the dirtiness of the bar, she must come from some sort of money; her expensive looking clothes support that notion, too. She cants her head to the side, trying to figure out why the other woman looks so damn familiar – 

“Leia’s on the city council,” Han supplies at her look of confusion. “I’m dating a big-time politician now.” 

“No, that’s not – wait.” Jyn leans forward, realization crossing over her face. “You’re that activist, aren’t you? I think I’ve seen you on TV. But you’re usually wearing. . .” 

“All white?” Leia gives her a half-smile. In her colored blouse and pencil skirt, Jyn hadn’t even recognized Leia; her clothes are usually what the media focuses on when speaking about the Alliance’s riots. “Yeah, that’s part of the schtick.” 

Frankly, Jyn’s surprised it had taken her this long to figure out where she’d seen Leia before. The Alliance is all over the news these days. They’re a big group of activists speaking out against the Empire – a militaristic, capitalist organization operating under the guise as a legitimate company. Jyn has her own issues with the Empire – with one member, specifically – but the Rebellion does little to stop them. From what she’s seen, it’s mostly just ‘Princess Leia’ preaching to crowds of angry people and protests outside of the Empire's headquarters in Scarif.

(Once, someone set Tarkin's car on fire. They'd gone to jail for that, but at least it had been _something_ other than heated yelling.)

Still, Leia’s practically famous. A bit of a badass, too, if Jyn’s being honest. It’s not an easy situation being forced to support the Empire as a politician and to go behind their backs when she’s off. Despite not agreeing with her methods, Jyn can certainly respect her hustle. 

To Han, she whistles lowly, shaking her head. “Don’t know how you managed this.” 

“Believe me, I’m asking myself the same thing.” 

“Hey!” Han interjects, placing his hand on his chest in fake offense. “I’m right here!” 

“A real catch,” Jyn nods solemnly, eyes wide and mocking. As Han splutters in the seat across from her, Jyn motions for Leia to take a seat, pleasantly surprised when the other woman does without hesitation. The bar’s not an easy place to warm up to, but she suspects Leia could learn to like it with time. 

Reaching underneath the bar, Jyn grabs a bottle of one of their better whiskeys, pouring Leia a glass of it. “Here,” she says, sliding the drink over to her. “On the house. You’re going to need it if you have to spend the night with that one, your Highness.” 

When Han opens his mouth to interject, she levels him with a look. “You can pay full price,” she threatens, but there’s amusement in her eyes when she hands him the beer he prefers anyway. 

“I don’t know why I keep comin’ back here,” he mutters good-naturedly, as if he hadn’t been singing her praises only minutes ago. 

“So, Jyn,” Leia takes a sip of her drink and barely flinches at the strength of the drink (and Jyn respects her more for it – Leia doesn’t look the type to often drink hard liquor, but looks can be deceiving), “how did you and Han meet?” 

Oh, now _that’s_ a good story. A couple years back, Han had been running from the police and needed a place to lay low for the night. He’d broken into her flat, thinking it abandoned (to be fair, it was an even bigger shit-hole than the one she currently lives in), only to be met with Jyn yelling obscenities and waving a knife in his face, wondering why the hell a strange man had hopped through her window in the middle of the night. 

Naturally, they’d become fast friends after that. Before she’d went to prison, they used to get high together every couple of weeks – mostly weed, sometimes not. Now, she’s trying avoid anything and everything that could put her back in Wobani. No drugs, easy on the alcohol. It’s worked so far, but she’s only been clean one month. 

Her eyes light up with mirth, lip twisting into a smirk. She opened her mouth to tell Leia exactly how they met, only to be faced with Han dragging his finger over his neck behind her, shaking his head aggressively. 

Jyn pauses, Leia catches her hesitation. 

“Well?” The other woman asks primly. 

While she’s always been quick on her feet, she doesn’t want to risk fucking up Han’s relationship with a blatantly false lie. The stakes are usually high when she needs to not tell the truth, but it’s not her ass on the line here. Dozens of stories flash through her mind – she’d accidentally hit Han with her car, they’d met on Tinder, they’d both been running from the cops at the same time – before she finally blurts out the most harmless thing she can think would sound plausible, “He drinks a lot.” 

Han puts his head in his hands, groaning. Leia shoots him a confused look, but turns back to Jyn all the same. There’s a hint of a smirk tugging up at the corner of her mouth, but Jyn can see that she’s trying to hold it back. “Does he?” 

“Used to come here all the time,” she tells her, trying to salvage the wreck of the story. “‘Course, that was before I started here, so when I joined, he was already a regular. I didn’t really pay him much attention – I mean, I noticed him, but didn’t talk to him or whatever.” 

“So, how’d you become friends?” Leia twirls her drink, the ice clinking against the glass. “Just from him being here all the time?” 

Jyn shoots Han a look – _you’re welcome_. “There was this asshole bothering me one day. I can take care of myself, but I can’t afford to lose this job so I couldn’t do anything about it. Han, uh. He took care of him for me.” 

Han’s method of taking care of things would likely be knocking the other guy’s lights out and literally throwing him out of the bar, but she doesn’t add that part into her story, figuring the simpler, the better. 

“See, princess,” he grins, looking real proud at the fake background Jyn’s created for him. “Told you I was a real stand-up kinda guy.” 

“Hmm,” Leia replies coquettishly, but her body language says otherwise. She angles her shoulders toward him, head tilting in his direction. It’s subtle, but Jyn can tell her story has had the intended effect. 

Han mouths _“thank you”_ over Leia’s head, and wraps an arm around the brunette’s shoulders once again. It’s not such a big lie that it wouldn’t happen, because Han’s a genuinely nice man like that – even if it’s hidden by that asshole, tough guy persona he has. 

Jyn moves away from the couple to give them some privacy, focusing her attention on the other customers in the bar. On the off chance that her boss is actually sober, she doesn’t want him to see her favoring some patrons over others; there’s not a lot of job opportunities for an ex-con, and she can’t afford to lose this one. 

She falls into a rhythm – taking orders, getting drinks, cleaning glasses, putting shit away. The first couple days working here had been rough, but she’s got the hang of it now. It’s a good enough job even with the shitty pay. The one thing she dislikes is the amount of bar fights, which should have been expected based on the reputation this place has. While she would have jumped on the opportunity for violence before Wobani, now she just worries that when the police come, they’ll arrest her and she’ll be right back where she started. 

There’s no way in hell she’s going back to prison. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that she’s free – she’ll wake up gasping in the middle of the night, feeling as if she’s been locked in and trapped in iron. Being in Wobani for one month is a death sentence; she’d survived six – but there’s no way in hell she’ll be able to last twenty years trapped in there. 

(But though she’s alive, she certainly hasn’t been spared.) 

“Hey, Erso!” 

Han’s voice cuts her out of her thoughts. Slowly, she relaxes her body, releasing her white-knuckled grip from the bar and straightens her hunched back. Brushing off Han’s worried gaze, his cunning eyes having noticed the reaction, she asks sharply, “Yeah?” 

He drops it, though she knows that his sharp eyes have noted her reaction, and slides her a twenty to pay for both of their drinks. “Here. Told her that I’d pay for both of us. I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman an’ all. You think it’s workin’?” 

“You, a gentleman?” she scoffs, shaking her head as she pops open the cash register and begins to sort through the money. “You could have done a lot worse, mate. Still don’t know how you managed to get her to agree to a date, though.” 

When she slides him the change, he shakes his head. “Keep it.” 

Saying nothing else, she slips the rest of the money into the front of her apron. There’s nothing in Han’s eyes except understanding; though he’s never been in jail, he knows all too well how difficult it is for someone with arrest charges on their records to make a living. While Jyn doesn’t like pitied, she’s never felt that from Han. It makes it much easier to help his help when she knows he’s been in a similar position before. 

“You want something else?” she asks after a beat, Han making no attempt to exit. “I wouldn’t keep Leia waiting.” 

“Nah, she’s fine. Wanted to talk to you, make sure you were okay.” 

“I’m fine.” 

Han crossed his arms. “See, I heard Aneisa Quix based your fuckin’ head into a wall a couple days ago. I was just comin’ in to check up on you. Shouldn’t you be in bed? Or resting? You shouldn’t be messin’ around with ead wounds, Erso.” 

“I had a concussion, Han. I wasn’t _dying_ ,” she says with a forced half-grin. Despite her outward appearance, it feels like her skull is about to cave in. The noise of the bar combined with being on her feet for the last couple hours has left her with a rather nasty migraine, the only saving grace being the dim lighting. “I took the rest of Wednesday and Thursday off.” 

He peers at her, as if he’ll be able to visualize her pain in the air in front of them and see if she’s telling the truth. She stands firm. Friday and Saturday are the bar’s busiest nights. Missing them would remove a significant chunk of her weekly income. 

“If you need anything, you’ll call?” he asks, drumming his fingers on the counter. 

“I will,” she lies, and they both know she won’t. Talking about her for so long is making her uncomfortable, so she flips the conversation around on its head. “You need to stay out of trouble, too – especially now that you’ve got a fancy politician girlfriend and everything.” 

It’s strange seeing Han – the eternal bachelor – finally get into a relationship that looks pretty serious. When she’d first met him, Lando and him had been friends with benefits for months, and he’d sworn he’d never do anything more than that with anyone. While there’s a bit of envy there, for seeing him have something she’ll never have, she’s proud of him. He’s getting out, putting his life on a better track. At least one of them has a future that’s looking up. 

(Her, on the other hand? Working with the police is a shot at redemption – but at this rate, she doesn’t know if she’ll ever get it.) 

“Me?” he scoffs. “Gettin’ into trouble?” 

“Weed still isn’t legal here in Coruscant,” she points out dryly, laughing when he rolls his eyes. “You get a real job yet?” 

“Don’t I know it,” he mutters, then shakes his head. “Not like m’doin’ that anymore. I’m _respectable_ now, Erso.” 

“Oh, are you?” Somehow, she finds that hard to believe. 

“Hey,” he says, wagging a finger in her face which she bats away. “I got a politician for a girlfriend and _real_ job. Found myself a garage that actually meets my standards. That’s pretty fuckin’ respectable, if you ask me.” 

That makes one of them.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, waving him off and ducking her chin to hide her smile. “Get out of here, Solo. I’ve got a job to do and you’ve got a date to go on.” 

He places his palms flat on the bar before pushing up and heading back towards the entrance. There’s a pang in her heart watching him leave, as if this is a metaphor or some shit, but she’s happy to see him go. Truly, she is. As he reaches the door, he turns his head and hollers out, “See ya around!” 

Some of the patrons turn their heads to look at her. Jyn scowls and ducks her head, cheeks flaming at the attention, resisting the urge to flip off anyone staring. 

Fucking Solo. 

* * *

“Here.” A mug of coffee is placed on his desk. Cassian looks up, startled, only to be met by Kes Dameron’s kind – and slightly sympathetic – eyes. “You look like you could use this.” 

“Thanks,” he manages with a tight smile, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes before taking a sip, the scalding liquid burning his throat but doing its job in waking him up. Ever since the mess with Quix a couple days ago, he hasn’t gotten much sleep. Most of his waking hours have been going over what had gone wrong and how to fix it, running through scenario after scenario until he finally figures out a solution. It hasn’t led to anything yet. 

When he’d gotten back to the office, frazzled and slightly out of breath after dropping Jyn off, Kay’s team had already made it to the safe house and found it empty. No guns, no drugs, no Quix. Jyn’s tip had been legitimate, a shot in the dark, but it hasn’t landed. 

He’s texted Jyn, too, asking her for more safe house locations and any other information she deems pertinent about Quix or the Partisans in general. She hasn’t responded, though because she had work last night, he knows she won’t for a couple hours more. Still, he’s checking his phone every couple minutes like some sort of lovesick teenager. 

God, he’s pathetic. 

“You know,” Kes starts, leaning up against Cassian’s desk, hands fiddling nervously in his lap, “if you ever need anything. . .” 

He must look a lot worse than he’d thought. On the way out of his apartment this morning, he’d avoided looking into a mirror but he could feel the bruises from sleeplessness forming underneath his eyes, dark and puffy. “I’m fine, Kes,” he says instead, brushing off the concern. “You know, I should be asking you the same question. How are you? Shara and Poe?” 

Kes runs his fingers through his hair, though he smiles broadly at the thought of his family. “Having a newborn is exhausting, mate. I don’t think I slept more than two hours last night. Listen, when you have some free time, you should come over. Poe misses his godfather.” 

That’s a not-so-thinly-veiled attempt to get him to come over to dinner and eat real food instead of Chinese take-out for once. Cassian has to laugh at that, the sound more of a huff of air than a full chuckle. “He’s not even a year old. He doesn’t know who I am!” 

“That’s a lie,” Kes tells him, fighting back a shit-eating grin. “I heard him tell Shara that he would only eat his food if you gave it to him.” 

“Really.” 

“Mhm. Spoke in a full sentence, too. ‘Mama, I will only eat my peas if Cassi comes to feed them to me.’” 

At that, Cassian can’t hide a chuckle, shaking his head as he laughs. “Sounds like he’s a handful already.” 

“He _knows_ he’s got me and Shara wrapped around his little finger,” Kes laments, throwing his hands up in the air. “I don’t know how but he does.” 

The exchange warms his heart. Maybe it would do him some good to be around the people he loves, he muses absently, leaning back in his chair. Shara and Kes have always made an effort to include him in their lives, even when he’s at his worst and pushing them away; the least he can do is watch Poe every once in awhile. Maybe let them have an evening off so they can get dinner or something. Go see a show.

And Poe. . .he remembers the day that they had decided to make him his godfather. It was a few hours after Shara had given birth. The first time Cassian had held Poe, Kes had quietly told him the decision, and he’d broken down crying with his godson in his arms. From that point on, it’s felt like he’s had a _family_ again. 

(And for someone who’d lost everything and everyone at age six, it means a lot not to be alone anymore.)

“Let me know when you’re free,” Cassian tells the other man. “I’ll come over and watch Poe for a couple hours. You look like you could use a goodnight’s sleep, hmm?” 

“I’d like that,” Kes smiles, the warmth of it reaching his eyes. Then he shifts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now for the other bit. I wanted to give you a few minutes to wake up first, but Draven wants you in his office.” 

_“Mierda,”_ he mutters under his breath, wiping his hand over his face. Any spark of earlier happiness is gone, replaced by a feeling of dread sinking low in his stomach. He has an idea of what this might be about, but he has to ask anyway. “Know what he wants?” 

“Not a clue.” Kes stands and claps a Han on Cassian’s shoulder. “I gotta get back to work. Good luck in there, mate.” 

When Kes walks away, Cassian finishes his mug of coffee in one gulp. It’s cooled down now, easier to swallow all at once. It pools in his stomach uncomfortably once it settles, and his mouth twists in anxiety. 

Regular meetings with Draven are fine, nothing to worry about events. It’s the unscheduled ones that usually leave him scrambling. 

Sighing, he gathers up all the files he has on Quix and slips his laptop into his bag, just in case. He stands with a little stiffness – with all the long hours he’s been working, his back and leg have not been happy with him. Kes salutes him solemnly as he approaches Draven’s office, at which Cassian rolls his eyes before rapping his knuckles against the door. “Sir? It’s Andor.” 

“Come on in, detective.” 

The office is clean and organized, almost to the point of feeling sterile and hospital-like. Unlike Cassian’s work space, there’s no papers scattered about; the area almost looks unused. Draven’s desk is in the middle of it, with two standard chairs sitting out in front of it. He takes a seat in one them, placing his bag on his lap. 

He clears his throat, his face a perfect mask, hiding his emotions. “You wanted to see me, sir.” 

“Yes,” Draven leans forward from where he’s sitting, elbows placed on his desk. Always blunt and to the point, he cuts right to the chase. “It’s about Erso. Are you satisfied with the progress she’s made this past month, detective?” 

Satisfied isn’t quite the word he’d use, but Cassian feels no reason to throw Jyn underneath the bus when he doesn’t need to. She’s not his favorite person, but he’s not going to make up lies about her. While she’s generally unhelpful, she’d cooperated with him a few days ago – even if her abrupt departure had left him reeling. “She was a useful asset in the Quix case, sir.” 

“As I recall, she started a fight with the target and let her get away,” Draven replies dryly, “instead of following the proper protocol and restraining her until officers got to the scene.” 

He’s not one to often disagree with Draven, but even with her unconventional methods – ”I think that’s what she was trying to do, sir.” 

“What matters is that she didn’t,” his superior officer says hardly, and Cassian can’t help but feel as if Draven’s being unfair. “It’s been over a month since the department has taken Jyn on as an informant, but we haven’t had an increase in arrests. It’s difficult to keep her out of prison without a good enough reason. I’m sure you understand how government regulations are these days and how incredibly frustrating they are.” 

There’s something hard in his throat. He struggles to swallow it down, worried this is going to go the way he thinks it might. It should bring him relief, knowing Jyn would be sent back to Wobani and out of his hair, but all it does is make his hands sweat and stomach sink. “Sir?” 

“How’s your leg doing, Andor?” 

Cassian blinks, the change in topic giving him whiplash. “It’s good, sir. It’s getting better every day.” As much as he hates the required physical therapy, he wants to be back in the field even more – so he goes and does the exercises they tell him to. “I should be at one hundred percent in a couple months."

“Good,” Draven says, looking genuinely pleased with the results. “Once you’re cleared medically, I’ll be assigning Erso to a new handler, one less experienced than you are. If she lasts that long, of course.” 

Cassian doesn’t say a word, watching as Draven reaches down into his filing cabinet and pulling out a wad of papers. “Unfortunately, you’ll be stuck with her until then. But if she doesn’t start helping us like we’d asked, she’ll be back in prison before the year is over.” 

He slides the files across the desk, waiting to begin speaking again until Cassian takes them with barely shaking hands. “This is the majority of the information the precinct has on the Partisans. I’ll be emailing you what’s been documented digitally later today.” 

He flips open the first folder, scanning the page quickly. The first name that pops out at him is Saw Gerrera, and he blinks, shaking his head. “Sir, most of these people haven’t been active in years – ” 

Draven must want Jyn gone. Cassian struggles to find any other explanation for what’s going on here, for explain away how unreasonable his superior officer is being right now. In his lap, his hands clench into fists. 

(It’s better for him, he tells himself. Once Jyn’s gone, he can focus on his career again without worrying about whether or not a criminal is trustworthy.)

“We need a big arrest, detective,” he replies, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands together. “For both the department’s and Erso’s sake. If Erso can help us get it, then all the better. See what you can do here, Andor. I’m not expecting miracles.” 

He’s got nothing to lose. Absolutely nothing. So why does it feel like he does?

“She might run, sir,” Cassian says quietly, feeling as if the word strangle the breath from his lungs. “When she hears the news, I think she’ll spook. The last thing she wants is to go back to Wobani.” 

“I trust you to word this carefully enough where she won’t feel the need to,” Draven replies pleasantly, as if they’re talking about the weather and not the fate of another human being. 

Cassian stands, sliding the files into his bag. His phone vibrates in his pocket but he ignores it. “Anything else, sir?” 

“That will be all,” Draven says with a tight-lipped smile. “You’re a good cop, Andor. Don’t let this Erso mess have you thinking that you aren’t.” 

“It won’t, sir,” he responds, as if it’s not. 

With that, he leaves the office and brushes off Kes’s look of concern. _“Later,”_ he mouths to the other man, and heads to his desk. 

His phone buzzes again – there’s only one person who he’s expecting a reply back from right now. His stomach drops as he fishes his cell out from his pocket. 

**Jyn Erso:** here’s all the safe houses i could think of in the area, this took me like 10min u owe me one andor  
**Jyn Erso:** _*image attached*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you all have been wonderful with your comments and kudos, i couldn't help but keep writing and update a little earlier than planned <3
> 
> i am going on vacation though, from tomorrow (july 8th to july 17th). since i won't have wifi, i won't be able to post. hopefully, i can get the next chapter up relatively quickly later next week. i've already started writing it so i don't think it'll take too long to put up :-)


	3. Chapter 3

Jyn storms into the café like a bat out of hell, her hair dripping and leaving puddles on her shirt. Her clothes are rumpled and she’s late (not surprisingly), looking like a modern day Fury but not. . .not in a bad way. 

(Writers always wax poetry about women with storms brewing underneath their skin. Jyn, Cassian thinks in this moment, must be their muse.) 

“I’m not going to apologize,” she blurts out before he can even open his mouth, slamming her hands down on the table, startling him with the sudden noise, “so don’t say anything. I slept through my alarm but I wanted to shower.” 

It’s around noon, but on Saturdays she works into the early morning. Judging by circles underneath her eyes (as big and puffy and bruised as his probably are), she likely hadn’t gotten more than a couple hours before racing her way over here. 

He feels guilty, just a little bit, but there’s nothing he can do. He doesn’t want to be here either, doesn’t want to have the conversation he’s been pushing off until the last minute, doesn’t want to be the one to break this news to her. 

Doesn’t want to be the one that might break _her_. 

“I wasn’t,” he assures her, but he’d certainly been thinking about it. The chastisement had been sitting on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down now. Their meeting is going to be decidedly unpleasant as is. 

“I don’t believe you,” she says with her mouth pulled in a firm line, but she takes the seat across from him anyway. She’s here now, and it’s not like she’s going to walk out on him when her presence is required by their contract. This is something they’ve both been forced into. 

The text he’d sent to her last night had been cryptic and unspecific, but he’d needed time after his meeting with Draven to mull over what to say. It’s important not to make her panic, he rationalizes, but this is a time-sensitive issue. Even with a night to to think about it, he’s not exactly positive how he’s going to phrase it. 

“Brought your first-aid kit back,” she mutters, shoving it at him, and it’s only now that he notices the small box in her hands. It’s clean, almost pristinely so, and looks exactly the same as it had when he’d given to her. No bloody fingerprints or any dirt marring white outside, though, he supposes, she could have washed it off. 

To confirm his suspicions, he pops the lid. While he hadn’t taken stock of what was in there beforehand, it looks untouched. Nothing is out of place. He peers up at her, eyebrows knitting together. She doesn’t look injured – she seems pretty healthy for someone who had a concussion less than a week ago, but head wounds are tricky. She could be fine, but the odds of that. . .

“Did you. . .” he frowns, almost wanting to ask her to see her head again and make sure for himself. At the last second, he catches himself, realizing that it would look strange to pick through her hair in the middle of a semi-crowded café. (Not like that would have stopped him, were her life truly in danger.) 

“I have my own supplies, Andor,” she scowls, crossing her arms over her chest – though even if she hadn’t, he figures she wouldn’t have used his medkit anyway. “Can we get on with it? What’s this – ” 

“Do you want something to drink?” he interrupts quickly, more nervous than he should be. It’s not his life on the line here, after all, not his job in danger. He shouldn’t have sweaty palms or a racing heart. “Here,” he digs into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled five dollar bill, pushing it across the table, “if you need – ” 

“I can pay for it myself,” Jyn spits out, shoving his money back at him, clearly agitated. His mug rattles at the sudden movement, some drops spilling out onto the wood surface. He reaches out a hand to steady it, going so far to pick it up in case it happens again. “I don’t need your _charity_ , Andor.” 

He’s pretty sure that she does – the department is giving her nothing except her freedom for the work she’s doing and the only other job she has is bartending – but he doesn’t push the issue. He’d been trying to help, but he supposes he can see how it could have come across as condescending; there have been difficult periods in his life too, periods where he hadn’t wanted to depend on others to get by and had sometimes stretched himself (and his money) a bit too far. 

(Jyn’s so incredibly stubborn that he has to wonder if she’s ever _not_ been trapped in that cycle of hard times.) 

He watches as she gets into line, squinting up at the menu as she considers her options. Her face scrunches up in a way that’s kinda – nope, nope, he’s not even going to go there, not today, not _ever_. 

She comes back after a few minutes, a small styrofoam cup in her hand. From what he can see when she takes the lid off, it’s just a plain, black coffee. No milk, no sugar, no add-ons. His nose wrinkles unconsciously; sure, he doesn’t like anything special mixed into his drink, but he’s not a _monster_. 

It’s probably, he realizes after a beat, the cheapest drink they offer here. It’s too late, though – Jyn’s already caught his look, eyes narrowing in offense. 

“What?” she asks sourly, raising her chin up haughtily. “You going to judge me for this, too?” 

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs good-naturedly, bringing his cup up to his lips to hide the half-smile on his lips. It’s an attempt to make the atmosphere a little lighter before he drops the bomb on her. “I just don’t know how you drink that.” 

“I like it like this,” she mutters, staring him in the eye as takes a big swig. It’s kind of intimidating, and, with that sort of intensity, he actually believes that she does enjoy it. 

There’s a moment of silence between them, as if they’re each sizing each other up. Cassian doesn’t want to start – he doesn’t want to be the one who tells her she’ll probably end up back in jail – but it’s got to happen, one way or another. 

He doesn’t know whether or not to be thankful when Jyn opens her mouth and raises a brow. “So – is there a reason you wanted to see me a week early? Especially when we just saw each other?” 

“It’s about the work you’ve been doing,” he starts vaguely, taking a sip of his coffee. He’s glad that he’d chosen a busy place for their meeting; in case of eavesdroppers, they can’t say anything specific or detailed, and perhaps more importantly, it significantly lowers the chances of Jyn making a scene. 

(Though knowing her, being in public won’t stop her from saying anything she wants to tell him.) 

He continues, trying to make it as blunt as possible, “My boss isn’t happy with your progress so far. I met with him yesterday – ” 

Naturally, Jyn looks outraged – but there’s a touch of fear in her eyes, the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of emotion. Once second it’s there, and the next she just looks angry. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” she seethes, making an attempt to keep her voice down. “Is this because of what happened with Quix? I told you I needed to be there, but _you_ wouldn’t let me go.” 

The Partisan woman hadn’t even gone in the safe house Jyn had suggested, but he’s not going to point that out when she’s already upset. This time around, he’ll take the blame for their failure. 

Her voice, however, is slowly rising in volume. 

Cassian looks around café surreptitiously, but no one is even glancing their way. Still, he hisses, “Quiet! No details, remember?” 

“Fuckin’ stupid idea to meet here,” she mutters, but thankfully doesn’t say anything else on the matter. 

“It’s not _just_ that,” he admits, “but it has something to do with it. The precinct hasn’t made any significant Partisan arrests in the past month. If that doesn’t change. . .” He leaves it at that, not giving her a timeline or suggesting that she might be going back to Wobani anytime soon. 

Draven had said that it would be before the end of the year. It’s the end of October now, meaning that she might only have a little over two months more of freedom and she doesn’t even know it. 

_Breathe. It doesn’t matter what happens to her. It doesn’t affect you._

Jyn’s eyes narrow from across the table, her fingers tightening around her cup, nails leaving little indents in the white styrofoam. It creaks dangerously, close to releasing a wave of hot coffee all over their table. That’s not what Cassian’s most worried about; his focus is solely on the murderous glare directed at him. 

Her mouth opens, then closes. Abruptly, she stands and marches across the shop to throw her drink away. Nervously, he watches her walk a rampage back to the table, going pliantly when she grabs his arm and yanks him out of his seat, grip strong enough to bruise even through his jacket. 

“If we don’t leave,” she grits out through clenched teeth, pulling him out of the shop and through the streets, “then I will start cursing in front of those children.” 

Now that surprises him. “That’s what you’re most concerned about?” 

A beat. Then – ”It’ll be easier to hide your body if I kill you in a more remote location.” 

There it is. 

* * *

As soon as Jyn gets to her apartment – a quick walk from the coffee shop, Cassian had chosen a convenient location for their meet-up – she explodes on him. Bursting forward with an almost superhuman speed, she pins him against the door as soon as it shuts it, hands fisted in the front of his shirt. 

His breath leaves him in a pained exhale when his back slams against the wood, hurt flashing in his eyes. “Erso – ” 

When he looks down at her, there’s a multitude of emotions running over his face, but fear isn’t one of them. Even when she has him like this, he isn’t afraid of her. 

(That’s something she won’t realize until much later.) 

What she’s focused on now, however, is how loudly her heartbeat is thrumming in her ears and how her anger has turned her vision red. She doesn’t consider the consequences of assaulting a detective or how that might send her to prison faster; instead, _her_ fear has turned her into a shaking, broken mess. 

She would rather _die_ than go back to Wobani. If the police are planning on arresting her again, then they’re going to have to drag her body back there, dead or alive. 

“Am I going back to prison?” she hisses through gritted teeth. _“Tell me! Are you fucking sending me back? After everything I’ve fucking done?_ ” 

“Jyn, I’m _trying_ to fucking help you!” he shouts back, looking just as pissed as she does now that the shock has passed. “If you would just let me _explain_ – ” 

He’s talking around the issue, trying to make it seem like it’s not as bad as it is. She growls, shaking him a little. Despite her shorter stature, she’s pushed him up to a level where just the balls of his feet are still on the floor. She can feel the muscle underneath her skin where her nails dig into his biceps – he’s strong, but she knows she’s fucking _stronger_. 

“Tell. Me.” she grits out, digging her nails into his arms and ignoring the way he flinches from it. (I _s this all she can do? Hurt?_ ) “Am I going back to Wobani or not? Fucking _tell_ me! Yes or no, Andor!” 

“Not if I can help it!” he exclaims, finally pushing back against her and fighting out of her hold, taking a few steps back and holding up a hand. _Get back,_ it says. _Don’t come near me._ Up until this point, she hadn’t realized that he’d been almost completely pliant underneath her grip, no matter how painful it must have been. “Believe it or not, Erso, I don’t fucking want you to go back there, okay?” 

Jyn stops. Blinks. That takes her by surprise. Immediately, her mouth opens to refute that point. It can’t be true. “But – ”

“Let me speak!” he snaps at her. “You’re insufferable, annoying, an absolute pain in the ass to deal with – ” she bristles at that, “but you don’t deserve to go back.” 

His words leave her feeling a little _too_ vulnerable. “Aren’t all cops supposed to hate people like me? _Criminals?_ ” 

Cassian tips his head to the side, studying her, eyes roving over her shaking form. Her nails curl into the meat of her palms, digging half-moon crescents into her flesh, hating this sudden examination she’s been subjected to. “Not all detectives are the same,” he replies finally. “Just like all ex-cons aren’t, either.”

“Fine,” she says a beat too late, irritation crossing her features because she doesn’t know what else to feel. Anger is safe. Wrath is what she’s comfortable with. It’s easy to sink back into. “So you don’t hate me.” 

“I never said that,” he replies off-handedly, but the quirk of his lips that goes alongside it almost feels like a tentative peace treaty, a white flag in the middle of a tumultuous ocean. 

Jyn doesn’t trust him – it would be foolish to, considering the differences between them, greater than just their life choices. She does, however, believe that a part of him wants to help her stay out of prison, even if she’s not quite sure _why_. 

Asking that question earlier had gotten her nowhere. If she were to do it again, he’d probably just sprout some more nonsense about how she doesn’t deserve to go back – which yeah, is fucking true. Wobani is a place for murderers and rapists, not for someone charged with smaller crimes like theft and forgery. She shouldn’t have been there in the first place (and she has her suspicions about how she’d ended up in that cell), but she doesn’t need Cassian telling her that, either. 

(What he’d said a few minutes ago, no matter how assholish it had sounded – her stomach had flipped. It had almost felt like someone cared about her again. 

_Weak. Weakweakweakweakweakweak –_

_Saw must be rolling in his grave.)_

It’ll be something she has to decode for herself, then. Her first instinct is that, in exchange for his help, she’ll have to give something in return. Cassian’s one to talk around what he really wants, to say a lot without saying anything at all. It’s probably a skill he learned in detetive school – though, when she thinks about it, she can imagine a six-year-old kid doing the same kind of mental fuckery he does now. 

But – 

He’s not the type, she doesn’t think. As much as she dislikes being forced to work with him, she acknowledges that the situation could be worse. Cassian’s one of the better officers in his precinct; she knows this even without having met most of the others. And he can be. . .kind. He’d helped her out last week with her head injury, even when she hadn’t wanted his assistance. He didn’t have to retrieve her himself, yet he had. She’s still suspicious about that incident, but he hasn’t asked for anything in exchange just yet, not even a favor. 

(Can she dare to hope that he’s not going to want anything at all from her?) 

For now, she tucks her paranoia aside. There are more pressing issues to worry about, such as keeping her freedom. Once that’s ensured, she can figure out what to do with the debt that she owes to him. 

“The feeling’s mutual,” she replies, mostly-joking and crossing her arms over her chest, feeling the bumps over her ribs through the thin material of her shirt, “just in case you were wondering.” 

Her look only makes his smile tick another inch up his face. She scowls and looks away, her gaze sliding over the contents of her meager kitchen. 

“I need a drink,” she says before she remembers she shouldn’t be drinking anything alcoholic, stomping over to her fridge and yanking it open. Her lack of money is painfully obvious most of the time but especially now; the only things in there are a couple bottles of beer, an empty gallon of milk, a carton of eggs, and a few cheap frozen dinners. She winces at the sight, grabs a drink out and slides it across the counter to Cassian without asking if that’s what he wants, and fills a glass of tap water for herself. 

She takes a sip. Grimaces. It’s not at all satisfying, doesn’t have the bite and burn she uses booze for. 

(Though – it’s _water._ What does she expect, for it to turn into wine? If such holiness exists, she’s the farthest thing from it.) 

He grabs the beer before slips off the table and falls onto the floor, making his thanks known with a nod of his head. However, he doesn’t move to break the cap off the lid. Whether that’s in solidarity with her own lack of alcoholic drink or for some other reason, she doesn’t know. Maybe he just doesn’t fucking like the taste. 

“So,” she drawls awkwardly, leaning her elbows onto the table and blinking up at him with a look of faked seriousness. “What’s the plan, sir?” 

Cassian scowls, setting the lukewarm beer back down. “This isn’t a joke, Erso.” 

“Never said it was.” A second later, she tacks on cheekily, _“sir.”_ If he’s going to call her insufferable and annoying, she might as well act the part, live up to his expectations a little bit. 

He groans, probably questioning why he’s even helping her in the first place. When his eyes dart to the door, she thinks he’s finally done with her – until he pulls his messenger bag over his shoulder and lays it on the table. He opens the flap, pulling out a bundle of papers and a battered laptop. “Draven gave me these.” 

Her eyes rove over the manila folders, covered in dust and looking as if they haven’t been opened in awhile. It’s not surprising, as most of this shit is digitized, but the medium is appreciated; there’s no way in hell she can afford anything more than a cheap smartphone, let alone a laptop. 

And the last thing she needs is for library patrons to watch her screen and see her pull up secret police dossiers on known criminals. 

“What are they?” 

“Possible leads,” he tells her, shuffling through the files until he finds one of the thicker ones. He flips it open and shows it to her. On the page, the face of a vaguely familiar Partisan looks back up at her, dated from a couple years back. Hiram Mahasim. She doesn’t know him well, but last she’d heard, he’d gotten addicted to spice and left the Partisans a year or two after she had. “If we can make a couple of big arrests, get a few of these people off the streets, it’ll give you more time.” 

The way he’d worded that makes her pause, her fingers stilling from where they had been running over the glossy cover of the photo. “But it won’t keep me out forever?” 

Cassian hesitates. She catches it, narrowing her eyes into a glare. “I don’t know,” he admits finally, lifting one of his shoulders. His back hunches forward, looking as uncertain as she’s ever seen him. “I don’t know if it’ll be enough to ensure your freedom. You only served six months of your twenty year sentence. That’s. . .” 

“That’s a lot of time left,” she echoes back quietly, lowering her eyes. Any hope she had felt before begins to cease. “A lot of fucking time.” 

“Hey,” he reaches forward, touches her hand gently. It’s enough to make her flinch back from the sudden physical contact, making him take a step back in alarm and hold up his arms in a pacifying motion. “I told you I was going to help, didn’t I? And I am. We just need to make sure you won’t be sent back in the next few months, then we can figure out the rest. Okay?” 

She doesn’t answer, just trying to breathe. Her fingers curl over the wood of her countertop. There’s a lump in her throat that she just can’t seem to swallow down. 

“Okay, Jyn?” 

It’s the use of her first name that does it, sending her head snapping up. There’s an openness to his gaze, a friendliness to his demeanor. He looks so earnest, and she truly believes that he believes what he’s saying. He thinks that he can help her, that he can save her – she _wants_ to trust him. Maybe a small part of her does. Is that so wrong?

But she’s never needed a knight in shining armor. Not now, not ever.

~~A _partner,_ perhaps – ~~

No. She doesn’t need anyone. But it’s nice to pretend, isn’t it? Even if it’s just for a couple minutes. 

“Okay,” she says, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. “Okay. Just let me. . .” she reaches forward, grabs another file at random. “Let me look. Some of people are going to be impossible to find.” 

“That’s fine,” he replies, impossibly gentle, voice lilting over her like a calming wave. “We don’t need to get them all.” 

For the next thirty minutes, they work in companionable silence. Cassian types something away on his computer while she scribbles notes in the margins – ideas of where to find them, if they’re still active members, if they’re alive or not. While she doesn’t know much about most of the Partisans in the files, her desperation keeps her motivation, racking her brain for any small detail that might be her saving grace. 

_Until –_

“You can’t be serious!” Jyn explodes once she gets to a particular file, nearly throwing it across the table in her anger. “Saw Gerrera? _Are you fucking kidding me?_ ” 

Cassian, used to her sudden bouts of rage by now, merely raises an eyebrow. “It would be a big arrest,” he muses. “You and him shared a close relationship, yes?” 

“He was my. . .” _godfather._ At least, before he’d abandoned her. That betrayal still burns inside of her, but it’s an old wound, not nearly enough to go behind his back and give him up to the police. “It doesn’t matter. Why do you want him? He hasn’t been active for years. There are others – ” 

She scrambles through the files, searching for a familiar face. The next one she finds has her heart dropping. _Maia_. Not her, not the woman who had taken a young Jyn under her wing after her mother died. The woman who had given Jyn her first (and last) pair of fingerless gloves, gloves that had been taken from her when she’d entered prison and gone when she’d been released – stolen by criminal or guard, she doesn’t know. 

(Strangely enough, the only thing that hadn’t been stolen from her lockbox was her mother’s crystal necklace. That’s a miracle she still can’t wrap her head around.)

She shoves that paper aside as well, hands beginning to shake. To try and regain a bit of control, she grips her necklace with one hand through her shirt, breathing out sharply through her nose. All the pictures now are those of people she recognizes, most of them being Saw’s lieutenants during the eight years she was with them. Codo, who had died in an explosion when she was fifteen, and Ayala, one of the one people who Jyn had trusted to watch her back during street fights. 

And Saw. Saw fucking Gerrera who had practically _raised_ her – 

Looking up at Cassian frantically, she asks with wide eyes, “We have enough, don’t we? Enough to keep me out of Wobani for a little bit?” 

“We do, but,” he sucks air in through his teeth, “you would be safer if we could bag someone higher up. I know that you were friends with these people, but that part of your life is over. You work with the police now.” 

“You don’t understand,” she hisses. “These people weren’t just my friends – they were _family._ I’m don’t want to sacrifice them for my benefit! They’re good fucking people, Andor!” 

“They’re in a gang, Erso,” he shoots back. “How good can they be? They’re _criminals!_ ” 

The _"just like you"_ goes unspoken. She flinches away anyway, even though he hadn’t said it out loud. 

Cassian continues on, shoving more salt in the wound now that he’s caught her off-guard. “You want to stay out of Wobani? You need to work with me. That means giving the department information on Saw Gerrera or. . .” he searches for a name on the list in front of us, “or Maia. The city would be better off without people like them roaming the streets. Your loyalties have to change, Jyn. _You_ need to change.” 

“Get out.” 

He looks confused, brows furrowing together. “What?” 

“Get out of my fucking apartment!” she yells, slamming her palms on the table. She doesn’t want to change if that means betraying the only family she’s ever had. “Get out, Andor! Get the fuck out!” 

He hesitates, then grabs his computer and shoves it back into his bag. “I’ll leave the files here,” he says pointedly, “in case you change your mind.” 

“I won’t!” she shouts after him once he slams the door, the loud sound reverberating in her now eerily quiet kitchen. 

Her chest rises and falls quickly, eyes squeezing shut as she tries to regain some control over her breathing. Twin splotches of red bloom on her cheeks as her anger rises up to the surface once again, blood boiling in her veins. 

“Who the fuck does he think he is?” she mutters to herself, wanting some sort of hard drink more than ever now. To wash away the hurt she’s feeling, to clean the taste of his words from her mind, to erase the events of the past hour. “Who the fuck?” 

Whatever progress the two of them had made in their relationship earlier that day has been destroyed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for being so patient with me on this one! i just got back from vacation two days ago and wrote like a storm to get this up. hopefully you enjoy despite the wait! <3 love you all sm and thank you for your continuous support ;; :-)


	4. Chapter 4

“Erso speaking.” 

_“Jyn, hey. Listen, I know we don’t know each other very well, but – ”_

At that, Jyn pauses, pulling her phone away from her ear to glance again at the unfamiliar number once more. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, her forehead wrinkling. She’d answered the call without even bothering to check who’d been on the other end of the line, and while the voice sounds familiar, she doesn’t have time to chat with some acquaintance she’s met only a few times before. 

“Who is this?” she cuts in abruptly, irritation coloring her voice. Anyone who knows her well enough understands not to call; her phone’s usually within reach, and she prefers to texting to talking any day of the week. Exchanging pleasantries for a few minutes before getting to the meat of the business is both anxiety-ridden and frustrating. 

_“It’s Leia Organa. I was with Han at the bar last week. He gave me your number.”_

Jyn can’t help the annoyed exhale that leaves her mouth at those words. From her spot on her couch, she pulls her legs up and curls them underneath her, leaning back against the stained armrests. She rubs at one of her eyes tiredly, disrupting where her reading glasses are perched precariously on the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, I remember.” 

Why the hell would Han give Leia her number? Even if Leia had asked for it, why would he agree? She makes a note to talk to Han about this, that he can’t just go giving out her contact information because he’s whipped. 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, perhaps waiting for Jyn to say more, but she keeps her mouth shut. Leia will make her reason known soon enough. _“I know it’s late, but I have a favor to ask you.”_

Jyn’s eyes slide to the old clock hanging on her wall. 12:48 a.m. She hadn’t meant to stay up this late on one of her nights off – these days, she needs all the sleep she can get – but Cassian’s words still echo in her mind, leaving her unable to stop her thoughts from whirring. Her insomnia is bad on most nights, but now she can’t even close her eyes without faces from her past flashing in front of her eyelids. 

What she wants is a glass of wine, which is usually a surefire way of getting her sleepy enough to fall asleep. When she’d tried to rest earlier, she’d been thrown out of a nightmare in a cold sweat, lingering memories of a nightmare fading away as she become conscious. That had been about thirty minutes ago; she’s resigned herself to taking a nap before her shift tomorrow. 

But just because she can’t sleep doesn’t mean she wants to talk to Leia. Instead, Jyn deflects. “Leia, I’m busy.” 

_“I didn’t catch you at work, did I? I assumed since you picked up your cell – ”_ The other woman sounds so genuinely distressed to have bothered her at an inopportune time that Jyn almost feels bad for snapping at her earlier. 

_Almost._

“No, I’m not at work,” she sighs heavily, running her fingers through her hair and pulling even more strands out of her already messy bun. When her hair tie loosens enough to fall onto her shoulder, she sighs and begins to pull it back up. “I’m just. . .” 

She looks at the file spread out around her, some on the couch next to her and most scattered on the floor. The one opened on her lap is one she’d worked on earlier that day with Cassian, but she’s struggling now to pull more information from her already tired brain. It feels like she’s put everything she knows about this Partisan down on the page, and yet at the same time, it’s not enough. 

There has to be a way she can stay out of prison without taking down her former friends and family in her stead. Surely arresting a bunch of lesser gang members would be equal to bagging one of the greater ones, yes?

The faces of Maia and Saw and Codo stare up at her from where she’d thrown them across the room in a fit of rage earlier that day. Though she doesn’t want to hurt them, even after everything they’ve done to hurt her, there’s a sinking feeling in the bottom of her stomach that says she might have to. 

She won’t go back. She can’t. Six months there had put dozens of cracks in her walls, and even one more _minute_ spent behind those bars might tear her down entirely. In a twisted sort of way, she imagines the nineteen and a half years might go by pretty quickly if they’ve managed to break her completely. 

_“Jyn?”_

“Sorry,” she replies, startling back into the present, blinking a few times to reorient herself. “I’m just filling some forms out. Job hunting, that kind of shit.” 

With how little money she makes despite the amount of time she spends working, she _should_ be finding a day job. The tiny jar she keeps on her side table labeled “For Emergencies Only” sits balefully empty; as soon as Cassian had left, she’d taken the five dollars out of there and went to the corner store to buy a cheap bottle of tequila – only to dump it out into her sink as soon as she’d gotten back to her apartment in an act of record-breaking self-control. 

_“Oh,”_ there’s a pause, then Leia says tentatively, _“if you ever need someone to put in a good word for you. . .”_

Jyn snorts at that, shaking her head. It’s a kind offer, but Leia doesn’t even know her. Han’s probably told her a few stories, likely heavily edited with the grittier parts omitted, but none of that would have told Leia who Jyn _really_ is. “Thanks, but I don’t think I would be well-suited to government work.” 

_“You never know,”_ she replies with humor in her tone. _“All politicians could use a good reality check every once in awhile. Myself included.”_

Jyn truly doubts that, but the thought alone is enough to put a smirk on her face. After the two of them had visited her at work, she’d gone to the library and looked up some of Leia’s work on the Internet. After about an hour or so of research, Jyn had come to one conclusion: Leia’s good at what she does. 

This small talk they’re engaging in, however, is just allowing them to go around the reason why Leia had chosen to call her at this hour; deciding to be blunt, Jyn asks, “Why are you calling me, Leia?” 

_“Before I tell you, you have to promise not to tell Han.”_

Now that has her both intrigued and a little more cautious. Jyn leans forward slightly, draping an arm around the back of the couch. A frown tugs at her lips – she doesn’t like lying, especially not to the people who have her back. She’s got to have theirs, too. If this comes down to a situation where it’s either Han or Leia, Jyn’s going to pick Han; he’s been her friend and fellow partner in crime for much longer than she’s known the other woman. “Why not?” 

_“You’ll understand when I tell you what it is,”_ Leia says desperately. _“Just promise.”_

Jyn glances at the clock and the files spread out around her. While she doesn’t want to promise anything before knowing exactly what she’s agreeing to withhold, she also wants to get a little more work done before she collapses from exhaustion. Hedging will only make this conversation go on longer. “All right,” she lies. “I promise I won’t say anything to him.” _Right now, anyway_. 

_“All right. I need you to come bail me out of jail.”_

Those words shock the breath right out of Jyn’s lungs. She’s so certain that Leia’s fucking with her that she starts laughing, eyes wide in disbelief. And just as that amusement comes, it goes; why the hell is Leia interrupting her night for a practical joke? Annoyance washes over her in a wave. “You’ve got to be fucking _kidding_ me.” 

_“I wish,”_ Leia replies wryly, but there’s new tension in her voice that Jyn hadn’t heard before that almost makes her want to believe the other woman. 

“Listen, Leia. I don’t know you, you don’t know me. I don’t know why you’re calling me and acting like – ” Jyn makes a sharp gesture in the air despite Leia not being able to see it. “Just – I’m going to hang up and we can forget you called, okay?” 

_“Don’t you dare hang up this phone!”_ Leia interrupts desperately, beginning to ramble in what sounds like fear. Now there’s that panic Jyn had been expecting to hear from the start. _“I’m terrified. I don’t want to spend the night here – please don’t make me spend the night here. If you could help me out this one time, I’d owe you for life._ _I’m using my one phone call on you. I’ll pay you back – hell, I’ll give you_ more _for doing this for me. I just. . .I couldn’t call my brother or Han. You get that, right?”_

Other than his name and his affiliation with the Alliance, Jyn doesn’t know much about Leia’s brother. But not wanting to tell Han, she gets. “He does have a tendency to overreact about these things,” she muses. Especially so about the people he truly cares about. “Say I believe you and am actually thinking about this. How much is bail?” 

Leia tells her, and Jyn blanches. She has enough – just barely – but it’s what she plans on using to pay her rent later this week. “I can do it,” she says slowly, questioning why she’s even going along with this, “but I need you to pay me back as soon as you can, yeah?” 

_“Of course. I was going to call a taxi from the police station once they released me, but if you would be willing to drive me home, we could stop at an ATM on the way back. That way, you’d get it as soon as possible.”_

Jyn chews her bottom lip, slightly embarrassed that she has to admit, “I don’t have a car.” 

Leia says nothing of it, her response coming without hesitation. _“Well, there has to be a bank in the surrounding area, right? We can walk around a bit and look for one that’s open_.” 

It would likely take the two of them extra time to do so, but the assurance of getting her cash back immediately is what she needs. She doesn’t like others being in her debt – as she’s been cheated far too many times – but Leia seems trustworthy, especially since she already has a plan in place to get Jyn her money back. 

“If I need a ride over there, would you be able to cover that as well?” 

_“Of course.”_

She shifts the pile off of her lap and dumps it on the couch cushion next to her, standing and stretching her arms up over her head. Her back pops, bones clicking back into alignment from hours of sitting in an uncomfortable position. “All right. I’m on my way. Which station are you at?” 

_“The one on 173rd.”_

“‘Course you are,” Jyn mutters, rubbing her palm against her head. It’s the same station she’d been taken to nearly a year ago (and all those times before), and one of the last places she wants to go to right now. “I know where that is; I can walk there. I’m on my way.” 

_“Thank you, Jyn. I know we don’t know each other very well, but I couldn’t think of anyone else to call.”_

“Why?” she asks a touch defensively, her phone trapped between her shoulder and her cheek as she shoves her feet into a pair of ratty gym shoes. “M’sure you’ve got a bunch of people who would be willing to bail you out besides your brother and Han. You didn’t need to call me.” 

_“I don’t, actually,”_ Leia sighs. _“The last thing I need is for this to get out to the media. I’m sure it’ll be all over the news tomorrow, but. . ._ ” There’s a pause on the other end of the line. _“Is it so wrong to want a few hours sleep before that? From what Han’s told me about you, I know you won’t say anything. And that you won’t, ah. Judge me for this, I suppose.”_

That tells her that perhaps Leia knows more about Jyn’s past than she’s letting on. The other woman is intelligent, there’s no denying that. If Jyn has to guess, Han probably let something seemingly innocent slip about their friendship and what they’ve gotten up to together, and Leia put together the rest of the pieces. 

Usually, when people find out about her criminal background, they’re disgusted and no longer want anything to do with her. It had taken her _weeks_ after being released to find a place to live and work that hadn’t cared she’s an ex-con. 

But for some reason, Leia doesn’t sound like she really cares much about it. Jyn doesn’t know why it doesn’t bother the other woman like it does to everyone else, but she’s grateful to be spared the interrogation. 

“All right,” Jyn repeats, hoping she’s not going to regret this decision. “Don’t get into anymore trouble, princess. I’ll be there soon.” 

She hangs up the phone before shoving it into her back pocket, throwing on a hoodie over her pajama shirt so she won’t have to put her bra back on. There’s a lump in her throat when she grabs a chunk of her emergency money out from underneath her mattress, anxiety that she won’t make the payment on time and get evicted, but Leia had promised she’d be good on repaying her debt. It’s been a long time since she’s trusted someone like that, but she’s not going to let Han’s girlfriend sit in jail for the night because she had been too much of a coward to give up what she’d earned for an hour or two. 

(And if she doesn’t get it back, she’ll go to Han and tell him everything. Granted, he’ll probably know by morning, just like Leia said, but some leverage is better than none.)

She hesitates by the door, then grabs a hat and shoves it over her head. The chances of her beginning recognized are decent, especially by the older officers. Jyn’s got a long rap sheet, having spent a couple months here and there in juvie, and being arrested occasionally as an adult. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t ever go back, that she’s changed for good, and yet here she is. 

At least she’s not being dragged there in handcuffs. 

The police department is relatively close to her apartment; in some weird kind of irony, this complex was the only one to allow Jyn to live there. On a chilly, brisk night like this one, the ten minute walk can be done in less than that, especially when she starts jogging a bit to keep herself warm. 

The building’s fluorescent lighting emanating out into the darkness is as threatening as it’s always been, the looming possibility of going back to Wobani hanging over her head and threatening to suffocate her. For a few seconds, Jyn can’t force her feet to move forward and walk up the stairs. She must look strange, loitering out in front of the station with uncertain eyes and shaky hands, but it’s nothing this neighborhood hasn’t seen before. 

It takes her time to work up the confidence necessary, taking a breath deep enough to scrape the bottom of her lungs with the bitterly frigid air. Her hands curl into fists, the old scars on her wrists burning. If she thinks too hard about it, she can feel cold metal biting into the skin of her arms – so she doesn’t think about it. Walking up the stairs and entering the building, Jyn doesn’t think about anything except getting Leia out of there. 

The temperature is much warmer once she’s no longer outside, but it does nothing to pull the chill from her bones; if anything, she feels _colder._ Awkwardly, she steps forward to the front desk, eyes darting around the room, noting the possible exits – one behind her, the door leading to the cells, likely one down the hallway behind the desk. 

The receptionist glares at her from behind her computer. It’s an older woman wearing an obnoxiously bright green cardigan with a pair of reading glasses propped on her nose that look suspiciously like the ones Jyn had just been wearing. _At least I don’t have an ugly beaded fucking chain holding them up there_ , she thinks to herself bitterly and making a note to buy new ones, 

With Jyn’s hunched shoulders, disheveled clothing, and twitchy demeanor, she probably looks every bit the criminal that usually comes through the same doors flanked by two police officers. 

“I’m here to post bail for Leia Organa,” Jyn says, faking confidence she doesn’t have. It’s easy to slip into a persona of someone _other_ than she really is. There’s no reason why anyone here would recognize her, she tells herself, so long as she doesn’t – 

“Your name, please.” 

_Fuck_. 

“Jyn Erso,” she mutters, and swallows, watching as the receptionist types that into their database. Upon her release from Wobani, the police department wiped the records that went alongside her imprisonment, but could do nothing about her priors. She’s never been arrested under her real name – she’d been taught at a young age to always use aliases and to move around frequently to avoid suspicion – but that doesn’t mean connections between her personas and her real identity hasn't been made. Especially now that she’s working with a group of detectives; they would want to know all of her history with the law. 

A few anxiety filled moments pass before the woman nods, looking up at Jyn. There’s no glint of recognition in her eyes, meaning that the small database in the jail likely has nothing on her. She lets out a tight sigh, barely audible. No need to let anyone know she’d been worried. “How would you like to pay, Miss Erso?” 

“Cash.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a wad of cash, sliding it across the counter with hands that are only _slightly_ shaky. 

The older woman counts it, then stands with the money in hand. “I’ll let the officers know her bail has been posted, though it may take some time to process her release. I can call you when she’s out, if you would like to leave a number here.” 

The last thing she wants to do is spend more time in the jailhouse than necessary – her pause makes that all too clear – but she also knows the sinking feeling that comes along with being set free from imprisonment only to find that you’re completely alone; as Saw couldn’t come himself, he would often post bail online and leave her to make it back to headquarters. Whatever Leia’s been arrested for probably isn’t that big of a deal, but Jyn doesn’t want her to feel alone despite that. She made a promise. 

“No, I’ll. . .” she searches the room, gaze settling on the few chairs in the waiting room. It’ll have to do. “I’ll wait here until she’s ready.” 

The receptionist nods and disappears into the back. Jyn turns and sighs, resigning herself to a long couple hours of waiting. It’s tempting to go back and grab some files to study, but rationally, she knows it’s not worth it. What else is there to find? Her mind is exhausted, with all of the details she can remember sucked out of her memory and scribbled down onto the page. 

Besides, she thinks to herself with a huff, she hardly needs any more eyes on her right now. It’s clear that she’s not comfortable, and if anyone starts having suspicions, it wouldn’t be too hard to figure out her past with a bit more effort. 

Jyn settles down into an uncomfortable chair that creaks loudly and disturbs the silence of the room. It’s enough to make her wince. . .which only makes the seat sound as if it’s being murdered violently. However, it’s the only option that’s currently settled in the corner, allowing her a full view of the jail. She feels slightly better with her back pressed against the wall, even if she’s not quite sure what the threat is that she’s so worried about. 

They wouldn’t arrest her for no reason, right? And surely Cassian would step in if that happened. He would ensure that she didn’t go back to Wobani unjustly. 

_– right?_

She picks at the skin around her thumb, leaving it raw and almost bleeding. It’s not easy to admit it, but she knows that she’d been pretty rude to him earlier by yelling at him to get out of her apartment when he’d just wanted to help. It’s not him that’s putting her freedom in jeopardy, though she thinks he could have had a little more empathy for her situation. Doesn’t excuse her actions, though. Doesn’t excuse being an asshole. She knows that, has only known that – even if she’d forgotten in the moment. 

Her cellphone is nearly dead when she slips it from her pocket, but she debates on texting Cassian anyway – not an apology, but some kind of olive branch. Like it or not, they had to work together, and he’s her best and only chance of having a semblance of a good life from here on out. 

But she’s still so pissed off. Not necessarily at him, but the whole situation. Any message she sent would likely be tinged with her anger, so she decides to wait until morning to do so. Despite putting it off, it still makes her nervous, even though she doesn’t know why; she recognizes her emotions as the same kind of anxiety that comes alongside asking someone on a date, which is ridiculous, because she could never think of Cassian in that way. She’s certainly _looked_ , but – 

Before that line of thought can gain any more momentum, she shoves her phone back into her pocket and settles in to wait, leaning her head back against the wall. Her eyes slide to a half-lidded gaze, making it seem like she’s trying to sleep, but she would never let herself go completely unaware in a place like this. 

An hour or two later, she’s jolted out of her sleep-like state by a familiar voice. “Jyn?” 

Jyn doesn’t startle and jump up at the sudden intrusion; instead, she stretches languidly and grins up at Leia. “Hey, princess,” she rasps, cracking her neck and wincing when the pop doesn’t feel as good as it normally does. “How’s it feel to be a criminal, huh?” 

Leia snorts, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. “Great,” she replies deadpan. “I’m really enjoying myself.” 

“I would hate to take you away from all this, then,” she shoots back, standing up with a teasing glint in her eyes and heading back towards the receptionist’s desk. “I’ll see you around, Organa.” 

“You’re so full of it,” the other woman grumbles with a roll of her eyes. Jyn can’t help but laugh, delighted at the banter passing between them despite just being acquaintances. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Han she liked Leia. “I’ve had a long day, Erso. If you leave me here – ” 

“You owe me money,” Jyn reminds her as she finishes up the paperwork. “That’s the only reason I’m signing this thing.” 

The receptionist doesn’t seem to find as much humor in the situation as Jyn and Leia do, snatching the piece of paper away from Jyn almost before she’s done writing on it. That’s enough to hurrying out of the waiting room, especially when there’s nothing else she has to do to ensure Leia’s freedom. 

Luckily, there’s an ATM a block or two away from the jailhouse. Jyn leans up against a brick wall as Leia withdraws the correct amount of cash, staring absently out in the darkness before them. The only light source is the neon glow of the bank sign, illuminating the two of them in a sickly green light. 

“So. What’d you do to get arrested?” 

Leia’s mouth twists into a scoff. “I may have been doing some snooping that I shouldn’t have been.” 

“Oh yeah?” Now that surrounds interesting. “Was it worth it?” 

“I’d say so,” Leia says, taking the cash from the ATM and handing it to Jyn. Only sheer force of will keeps her from counting it in front of the other woman, though the stack does feel larger than what she’d brought into the station. “I found some good information. The police grabbed me before I could download it, though.” 

“I wouldn’t go back to get it,” Jyn advises. “They’ll have upped their security by now, whoever it is.” 

“You’re probably right. Still disappointing, though.” Jyn hums her agreement. 

Assuming that they’re about to part for the night, Jyn turns to head back to her apartment, but Leia grabs her elbow before she can leave. “Jyn, do you believe in the Rebellion’s cause?” 

Jyn frowns, having a sinking suspicion that she knows what this question is leading to. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” 

“We’re fighting to take down the Empire,” she says primly, clasping her hands in front of her. “What they’re doing is wrong. I know you agree with me there.” 

There have been rumors that they’re building a machine of mass destruction. When Jyn had overheard that at the bar, she’d gone in the backroom and had a panic attack – then finished her shift. “I do.” 

“We could use someone like you with us,” Leia murmurs, voice gentle. It’s as if she can sense the turmoil in Jyn’s mind and is trying to ease that. “You have a specific skill set – ” 

“What, because I’m an ex-con?” And if Leia hadn’t known it before, she does now. It’s not like Jyn to blurt out her past like that, but she will _not_ be used like some sort of tool for the Alliance to wield. “I’m not trying to go back to jail, okay?” 

“We can ensure – ” 

“I _literally_ just bailed you out of jail, Leia!” Jyn retorts, raising an eyebrow. “How can you promise that when you can’t even protect yourself?” 

There’s a beat of silence. Jyn lets out a heavy breath, pinching the bridge of her nose and looking away. “Look. What you’re doing is noble or whatever, yeah? But I don’t want to get into this political shit. I’ve been there, done that. If I get involved with this, I’ll just be back where I started.” 

Leia reaches out, startling Jyn with a barely there touch. “I understand,” she says. “I do, Jyn. Thank you for coming to get me today. If you ever change your mind, text me.” 

Though Jyn’s irritated with her, she still has to ask, “You can get home okay? If you want, you could crash on my couch for the night.” 

“I’ll be fine,” she smiles. “I’ll see you around, all right?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jyn waves her off, expression tight. “Have Han bring you around the bar some time.” 

Leia calls over her shoulder, a mischievous glint in her eye, “I don’t need that scoundrel to take me anywhere.” 

Jyn lets out an amused huff of breath, watching it crystalize in the air in front of her before turning away and heading back to her own apartment. She’ll text Leia when she gets back to her room, make sure that she got a taxi safely despite the turn in the conversation. To think that Leia’s head is so far up in the Rebellion’s ass that she would ask Jyn to jeopardize her own _safety_ – 

And with her own personal history in the Empire, it would increase the danger tenfold. The least of her worries would be going back to Wobani if people in high-ranking positions got word about her little acts of rebellion. 

It does give her a spark of an idea, though. One that might get her out of betraying her old family and friends in favor of taking down a bigger threat. It’s a solution, but not a very _safe_ one; Jyn’s never been one to shy away from dangerous situations. 

If this gets her killed, at least she wouldn’t go back to Wobani. 

As she walks home, Jyn pulls out her phone and begins to type out a message to Cassian. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u all enjoyed a little bit of jyn/leia bonding. i'll admit, even with all my research i don't really understand how the bail process works B U T coruscant isn't a real city either so lets pretend that's how it works there ok
> 
> cassian will be back in the next chapter! and a guest visit from a baby.... :-) !! thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Cassian doesn’t get Jyn’s text message until the very next day. As soon as he’d gotten home after leaving her apartment, he’d tossed his phone away out of frustration, refusing to look at anything work-related lest he gets even more irritated with her inability to cooperate. It almost seems like she _wants_ to go back to Wobani, as much as her demeanor and words insist otherwise. 

He doesn’t understand what’s wrong with her. Jyn has always been an enigma to him, tolerable one minute and ready to explode the next without any signal of her being set off. The walls around her true thoughts are seemingly impenetrable; even when he feels she’s letting him in even the tiniest bit, she’s quick to turn around and shove him out – sometimes quite literally, as she had yesterday afternoon. 

Though he sympathizes with her, realizes the choice she has to make now is extremely tough and hates that she has to make it, it’s her only option to stay out of prison permanently. Little arrests are good as temporary solutions, but if she wants to stay free, then she needs to help them bag someone like Saw Gerrera. Then, Draven won’t be able to say she isn’t doing what had been written in their contract. 

Maybe he’s a little too invested in being Jyn’s handler. That’s the problem with being trapped on desk duty – the only cases he’s really privy to are Kay’s and hers. After the botched Quix case, Kay’s been assigned to more patrolling jobs – ones that Cassian isn’t allowed to go on with him. 

That leaves him with nothing but a persistent need to help Jyn alongside the feelings of uselessness in the back of his mind. Though Draven had said his job is not in jeopardy if he can’t save Jyn, then what kind of cop is he? It’s an easy operation – all he has to do is get information out of an informant – and yet even this seems too difficult for him. And with everything else that’s going on in his life, he could really fucking use a win right now. 

His alarm blares. Blearily, he slaps the clock on his bedside table and groans when the noise cuts off. He hadn’t been sleeping; the pain in his back had kept him up for most of the night, so the annoying screeching does nothing except remind him of something _else_ he can’t do properly. 

Wincing, he manages to get out of bed without his muscles seizing in pain. Judging by the general stiffness and dull throbbing at the sites of his old injuries, he’ll have to take a hot shower before he heads out if he even wants to move without hurting today. It’s early, earlier than he normally wakes up on his days off, but he’d promised Kes and Shara that he’d watch Poe today so the two of them could go to work without having to pay for a babysitter. It’s no problem, especially since he hasn’t spent a lot of time with his godson lately. Hopefully, it’ll help take his mind off of the whole Jyn situation. 

The steam helps loosen up his limbs, but he’s found that when he wakes up feeling like this, it doesn’t usually go away without taking something to ease it. After pulling on a comfortable pair of dark jeans that he doesn’t mind getting dirty (the last thing he wants is Poe throwing up on something more formal), he pops three ibuprofen, hoping that the pills will do their job and give him the strength he needs to get jumped on by a toddler for the next eight hours. 

He has about twenty minutes before he has to leave to catch his bus. He takes his time getting ready, throwing on an old college sweatshirt and making himself a pot of coffee. When he finally finds his phone, half-underneath his couch, he swears as the charging symbol appears on the black screen. He tugs his charger cord out of the wall and slides it into his backpack; he’ll have to shoot Kes an email that he’s on this way instead of his usual text since there’s no time for his cell to get enough battery before he leaves. 

Ah, well. He doesn’t use his phone much anyway – data packages are expensive. If anyone had tried to text him in the past twelve hours (which he really doubts), they’ll just have to wait a little longer. 

_Hey,_ he types out on his laptop, composing an email to Kes on his work address. _Phone’s dead. I’m heading out now, though. Tell Poe I’m excited to see him. Cassian._

After he hits send, he pulls on his boots and throws a jacket on over his hoodie. Pausing in front of the mirror by his door, he frowns at his appearance. He looks – tired, worse off than usual. The outfit certainly doesn’t help, but even in his police uniform, he suspects he’d look just as bad. What he really needs is a good fuck and about twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep, but he knows that won’t happen anytime soon. 

With a sigh, he runs his fingers through his still-wet hair and tugs a hat on over it, not wanting it to freeze in the brisk morning air. He slings his backpack onto his back and heads out for the day, locking his door behind him then jogging down to the bus stop. It is, just as he predicted, bitterly cold, and as he waits on the side of the street, he wishes that he would have brought a pair of gloves to keep his fingers warm. He’s never done well in this kind of weather – it reminds him of too many things from his past that he doesn’t want to remember.

Luckily for him, the bus shows up on time – a rarity in this city. It’s busy, filled with people heading to work, but Cassian manages to squeeze his way in there. It’s uncomfortable being crammed so close to so many strangers, making him nervous that someone might get the drop on him without him noticing, but it’s a short ride to Kes’s apartment and he’s off within a matter of minutes. 

When he reaches the correct address, Kes opens the door before Cassian even raises his hand to knock. “Telepathy,” Kes says with a wink at Cassian’s questioning look, tapping the side of his head with one finger. “I’ve been practicing.” 

“He was looking through the peephole and waiting so he could scare you!” Shara hollers from somewhere farther back in the apartment. 

Cassian chuckles. “It’s good to see you both,” he says warmly. “Where’s my godson?” 

“That’s all you use us for, isn’t it?” Kes laments as if the other man hadn’t been trying to convince him to come over for _weeks_. “All you want is our son.” 

“Oh, stuff it, Kes,” Shara says fondly, finally coming into the room with Poe balanced on one hip. The baby is chewing on a teething ring and getting spit all over Shara’s work clothes, babbling nonsense. “C’mere, Cassian. I haven’t seen you in ages.” 

She engulfs him in a one-armed hug that’s careful to keep Poe from getting smushed, squeezing him tightly. Cassian gives as good as he gets, ducking down slightly to meet her smaller size. His heart swells when Poe leans forward out of Shara’s grip and latches around his neck, still speaking nonsense but sounding a little more excited now. 

“Hey, _mijo_ ,” he murmurs, taking him from Shara’s arms. “Me and you are going to have fun today, huh?” 

Poe babbles something else, hitting Cassian in the back with his toy repeatedly and cackling. 

Thankfully, the toddler isn’t too heavy yet – the strain on his back is minimal so far. He won’t be able to carry Poe around the whole time, but that’s not a problem; there’s a playpen set up in the corner of the living room that looks like it has his godson’s name written all over it. 

“Here’s all of our information,” Shara says, shoving a piece of notebook paper scribbled with phone numbers into his hand as if he doesn’t already have them plugged into his cell already. “That’s got our numbers, the pediatrician, the usual babysitter in case you need help – oh, and there’s food in the refrigerator for you if you want any, feel free to take as much as you want. He’s been fussing all morning, so I haven’t had time to feed him or give him any milk. . .” 

“Shara,” he laughs, shaking his head. Her paranoia doesn’t bother him – he’s glad Poe’s got two parents that genuinely care about his well being. “I’ll be fine. I’ve done this before, remember?” 

Shara replies, “I know, I just _worry,_ ” at the same time Kes interjects, “You better text us every five minutes with updates.” 

“As soon as I plug my phone in, I will,” he promises, setting his backpack on the kitchen counter. “You two go, get out of here. Don’t be late to work because of me.” 

Shara comes over to kiss the top of Poe’s head, murmuring how much she loves him in Spanish, then presses her lips to Cassian’s cheek with a “thank you.” Kes does the same thing – except it’s done to Cassian with a shit-eating grin and a _lot_ more spit, making it feel more like a _lick_.

“You’re worse than Poe!” He yelps, wiping off his face as the two of them head out the door, Kes winking before he closes it. Their laughter can be heard all the way down the hallway, even through the walls. 

“All right, little man,” he says to the drooling baby. “It’s just me and you now. Uncle Cassi just has to plug in his phone, then we’ll talk, okay?” 

He pulls his cell and charger out of his backpack, the wires all tangled and tied together. He swears under his breath – then apologizes right after, as if that’ll save him – when he can’t untangle it with one hand, setting Poe down on the kitchen counter in front of him and boxing the toddler in with his body. “Don’t you move,” he threatens, working with hands behind Poe’s back and his elbows holding him up. “If you break your head open, I’m not going to be happy. . .” 

Finally, he manages to pull it all free and plugs it into the wall. His phone buzzes happily, the empty battery signal flashing on the dark screen. In a few minutes, it should be charged enough to use, but he’s not here to work – he’s here to spend time with his godson. 

“What do you wanna do, huh?” Cassian asks, picking Poe up and hoisting him higher on his hip. “You wanna watch some TV? Chew on the ring some more? We can do both, you know. You don’t have to pick.” 

He takes a seat on the couch with his back to the armrest, legs spread out in front of him, and places Poe on his lap. The remote is in easy reach and he flicks the TV on, turning the channel until he finds something kid-friendly. Bright colors and talking pigs with English accents? Yeah, that should be good. Poe seems pretty absorbed in it, teething ring slowly falling to his lap as his eyes widen, getting that kind of glazed over look when a kid really likes what he’s seeing. 

Cassian brushes some of Poe’s curls off of his forehead and leans back with a fond smile on his face. Watching his godson is hardly a challenge; he’s about as well-behaved as babies his age get – not to mention, fucking _adorable_. 

The apartment is quiet except for the TV and Poe’s occasional laugh. It’s not difficult for his eyes to start to close. He won’t sleep, but a little bit of rest will do him some good – especially after the catastrophic night he had yesterday. 

It would be easy if his phone wouldn’t stop going off. 

He groans, a hand over his face, and hoping that whoever’s texting him stops. If he’s lucky, it’s something unimportant, like a data carrier telling him that a payment is overdue. However, he knows better than that. If it’s an emergency from work, he can’t ignore it in case they need him to come in. It doesn’t matter that he’s been benched – if they’re calling him, then he’s going. Simple as that. 

Having Poe makes that a little more difficult, but Shara had left him the number of the babysitter. It would suck having to leave at the very beginning of their day together, but that just means he’ll have to schedule another one. Kes and Shara wouldn’t mind at all, especially if it means getting more food into him. 

His stomach rumbles. Maybe he _is_ too skinny. Spending most mornings in the pool doing laps gives him muscles, but they’re the lean kind. He’s strong, but in a wiry-sort of way – but being out of the action isn’t helping any of that. 

“I’m going to grab us some snacks, _mijo,”_ he tells Poe, picking the kid up and placing him gently into his playpen. “You stay here and watch. . .” he squints at the TV, trying to read the fine writing at the bottom of the screen. _“Peppa Pig.”_

He heads over to the kitchen and grabs his phone, barely biting back a curse when he sees who the messages are from. Jyn – of course they are. It seems like she’d gotten over her anger from last night and now wants to meet up to talk over a new plan. He scowls; just because he’s her handler, doesn’t mean that he’s constantly at her beck and call. He wants to help her out, but it needs to be clear who’s in charge here. 

And it’s not her. 

**Jyn Erso [3:42 a.m.]:** i think i have a way to fix our problem. meet tmrw?

 **Jyn Erso [4:03 a.m.]:** if ur waiting for me to txt it to u, i’m not going to. secrecy and all that shit

 **Jyn Erso [4:03 a.m.]:** u in?

That’s the first wave. The next few come a couple hours later, likely when she’d woken up this morning. The gap between, however, isn’t that large. Judging by her texts, it doesn’t seem like she’d slept last much last night. That makes two of them. 

**Jyn Erso [6:47 a.m.]:** are u ignoring me

 **Jyn Erso [6:48 a.m.]:** i know u get up early 

He huffs out a breath, shooting a look behind him at Poe before he types out a reply. 

**Cassian Andor [8:37 a.m.]:** Can’t meet today. I’m busy.

Her reply comes almost instantaneously, making him wonder if she’d been waiting by her phone all morning. The thought makes him smile, but he pushes that down. This is work-related business – she’s not texting him because she _wants_ to. 

(At least, he doesn’t think so.)

**Jyn Erso [8:38 a.m.]:** are u actually

 **Jyn Erso [8:39 a.m.]:** or are u just saying that bc i was rude yesterday

 **Jyn Erso [8:39 a.m.]:** if i say sorry will u be unbusy 

**Cassian Andor [8:40 a.m.]:** Pretty sure that’s not how it works.

 **Cassian Andor [8:42 a.m.]:** I wouldn’t turn down an apology, though. You were pretty rude.

There’s silence on her end for a couple minutes, and he’s almost worried he’s pushed it a bit too far. Even though, in his eyes, Jyn is more at fault for what happened at her apartment, he could have worded what he’d wanted to say a little better. She’s not entirely in the wrong; a lot of her anger had simply been in self-defense. He can’t penalize her for that. 

**Cassian Andor [8:47 a.m.], unsent:** Listen, I shouldn’t have

**Jyn Erso [8:48 a.m.]:** no, you’re right

 **Jyn Erso [8:49 a.m.]:** i was an asshole. you were just trying to help, i get it. the situation fuckin sucks

 **Jyn Erso [8:51 a.m.]:** i can’t promise it won’t happen again, but i’ll try not to get as pissed off. Best i can offer

**Cassian Andor [8:53 a.m.]:** I’ll take what I can get with you.

**Jyn Erso [8:53 a.m.]:** ha ha

 **Jyn Erso [8:54 a.m.]:** now can we meet ??

**Cassian Andor [8:55 a.m.]:** I seriously am busy. It’s my day off and I offered to babysit my godson. 

**Jyn Erso [8:56 a.m.]:** do u trust him

**Cassian Andor [8:56 a.m.]:** What? Jyn, he’s a year old.

**Jyn Erso [8:58 a.m.]:** cool. i’m great w kids

 **Jyn Erso [8:58 a.m.]:** send me ur location

**Cassian Andor [8:59 a.m.], typing:** I’m not going to

**Jyn Erso [8:59 a.m.]:** i can and will hack ur phone

 **Jyn Erso [9:00 a.m.]:** send it andor 

With a knowing sigh that she’ll do exactly that, he sends her his location and hopes that he won’t regret giving up Kes and Shara’s apartment. He wouldn’t have done if he had been truly worried she’d do something in the future, but Jyn’s always been a bit unpredictable. 

**Cassian Andor [9:01 a.m.]:** Sent. Don’t make me regret this, Erso.

_Jyn Erso sent a gif at [9:02 a.m.]._

The sight of the gif she’d sent startles a laugh out of him. It’s a pug with grinning, human teeth – horrifying, but in a funny kind of way. It’s a very Jyn sort of thing to send to him. 

Poe lets out an ear-splitting shriek from the living room. Cassian almost drops his phone in worry, rushing over to the room as fast as he can, fearing the worst. “What’s wrong, _mijo?”_ he asks, slightly panicked. Poe’s truly a good-natured toddler – he doesn’t scream unless there’s something to scream about. However, he looks completely unharmed. “Did something happen? I really wish you could talk and just tell me – ” 

Poe calms a little when Cassian picks up him, bouncing him from his position on his shoulder. “Shhh,” he soothes, each little whimper sending a knife right into his heart. “It’s okay, little man. You’ll be okay.” 

The little pigs on the TV are jumping around in muddy puddles and yelling. The sound is beginning to grate on his ears, so he reaches down and grabs the remote, turning it off with the press of a button. “That’s better, don’t you think?” he murmurs. “Why don’t we get you a drink, huh? You thirsty?” 

He has no idea if Poe understands what he’s saying, but he swears that the toddler perks up a bit at the promise of milk. As he gets the bottle out of the fridge, he keeps up a steady stream of conversation, hoping that it’ll soothe his godson. “A new friend is going to be coming over soon,” he says, sweeping a hand over Poe’s dark curls. “Uncle Cassi is a _little_ worried, but she says she has an idea of how to fix our problem. At this point, I’ll take anything I can get.” 

He continues up the chatter as Poe finishes his breakfast, then sets him over his shoulder and begins to pat his back gently. When the toddler burps, loud and clear, Cassian laughs. “There you go. That’s what I like to hear. Maybe later we can eat some solid food. I saw some carrots in there that looked pretty tasty. . .” 

Poe’s beginning to settle in his arms, one of his hands going to his mouth as he closes his eyes and curls up against Cassian’s neck. It’s hard on his back, standing in the middle of the kitchen and leaning up against the counter for support, but he’s scared that moving will disrupt Poe’s little nap. He at least wants to give the little guy a few minutes of quiet before Hurricane Jyn comes barging through the apartment. 

He’s not sure how much time passes when he hears knocks on the door, painfully loud against the silence. Poe stirs, but doesn’t start crying at the sudden noise; Cassian murmurs a thankful prayer underneath his breath and goes to open the door. 

To his surprise, Jyn makes the effort to look contrite. “Shit, sorry. Didn’t know he was sleeping.” 

Cassian raises an amused eyebrow. “Don’t swear in front of the kid.” 

She opens her mouth, her lips forming what’s probably another expletive, before she closes it. “I managed to catch myself,” she says cheekily. “Are you proud of me?” 

“Very,” he snarks back, and for a moment, the scene in front of them feels – domestic. He forgets that he’s her handler and that she’s a criminal trying to stay out of prison. Instead, it feels like two friends laughing over something unimportant.

"This is your godson?" She stands on her tiptoes, peering up at little Poe's face curiously. 

"Mhm. His parents are friends of mine. I work with his father." 

"Who are they?" 

"Why do you care?" he asks suspiciously, hiking Poe farther up on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles on the toddler's back. "Don't tell me you're going to try something." 

"I'm not going to try anything," she replies, then clears her throat. "I don't really care. I was just trying to make conversation." 

It's a strange way to make conversation, but the question fits what they're talking about. He decides to indulge her, feeling it harmless as he's already invited her into their apartment and introduced her to their son. He trusts her. . .mostly. "Shara Bey and Kes Dameron." 

"Hm." She ponders this for a moment, then shakes her head. "Don't know 'em. I didn't think that I _would,_ but," she shrugs a shoulder, "stranger things have happened to me." 

"I believe that," he mutters, leaning his side against the doorway. In the silence that follows, he remembers the severity of the situation; the – the domesticity they've had for the last few seconds dissipates. 

He clears his throat. “You said you had something for me?” 

“Right,” she says, looking slightly startled at the abruptness of his shift in moods. That surprises him – he’d thought she wouldn’t want to joke around with him after yesterday. “Can I come in?” 

“Right, yeah, of course.” He shifts to the side so she can pass, closes the door behind them and stands awkwardly in the middle of the hall. “We could talk in the kitchen?” 

She eyes him critically for a few seconds, making him feel self-conscious underneath her sharp gaze. “No,” she says finally. “It’ll be comfier sitting on couches, don’t you think?” 

He’s never told her about his injury, but he thinks she knows about it anyway; Jyn’s more observant than she comes across. He leads her to the living room with a small smile, touched at her thoughtfulness – if that’s what this even is. For all he understands, she could be buttering him up so her idea doesn’t seem as preposterous. 

It doesn’t work. 

_“What the hell – ”_

“Don’t swear in front of the kid,” Jyn repeats smugly, crossing her arms over her chest from where she’s sitting across from him. She leans against the arm of the couch, mirroring his position on the other side. If she moves her foot a little to the right, their legs would almost be intertwined. 

“Jyn, you can’t be serious,” he whispers furiously, shifting Poe to his other shoulder. “Take down the Empire? Are you insane?” 

“Not the whole Empire,” she interjects. “Just Krennic. That should be enough to keep me out of Wobani, right?” 

He can’t believe she’s even entertaining this idea. Anyone who’s politically informed knows that the corporation does illegal things all the time, but no one’s ever been able to prove it. They’re notoriously good at covering their tracks; the two of them finding damning evidence enough to put even one member in jail is almost impossible. 

To Jyn, however, this issue seems almost personal. The fire in her eyes that has been diminished for so long now burns brightly. If anyone could take down the Empire, he believes it would be her; she’s got that way about her that could inspire legions. 

Hell, he’d follow her into battle. Even though he’s not in favor of this idea (taking down the Partisans would be easier and less risky), Jyn seems confident that she can pull it off. If he doesn’t help her, it’s likely she’ll try it by herself – and he’s not going to let her get killed on his watch. 

“Let’s say I agree to do this,” he says, holding up a finger when her eyes brighten and mouth opens. Poe fusses something against his neck, fingers curling in the collar of Cassian’s shirt. “Where would we even begin? The department has next to nothing on the Empire, we would be – could you grab his teething ring over there?” 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Jyn reaches over and grabs one of the rings off the coffee table, handing it to him. Poe quiets almost immediately after he gets it into his mouth. “If you’re tired of holding him. . .” 

Cassian’s surprised she’d even offer. “No, I’ve got him,” he says. At the dark look that passes over her eyes, he’s quick to add, “Not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that I don’t see my godson nearly enough.” 

A beat of silence. Then, “My brother used to work for the Empire. I haven’t talked to him in awhile, but I think he’ll be able to help.” 

His brows furrow together. That hadn’t been anywhere in her files. “I didn’t know you had a brother.” 

“Adopted,” she says with a half-smile and a shrug. “We used to be really close, but, you know. I ended up in Wobani and he went his own way. It’s been a little under a year since I’ve seen him.” 

Even he has to admit that it’s a solid first lead. It wouldn’t hurt going to talk to her brother, either. If that doesn’t work, they have a plan to fall back on to keep her out of prison. Still, and rightly so, he’s hesitant to agree to this. “I don’t know, Jyn. . .” 

Her eyes blaze. “I’m trusting you to help me stay free, you need to trust that I know what I’m getting into. Trust has to go both ways, Cassian.” 

She’s got a point there. Coming to him with her idea shows a large measure of trust in him. It’s about time he started giving her the same about of belief that she has in him. 

“Set up a meeting with him,” he says slowly. “I’m not agreeing to this, so don’t get any ideas in your head. But it might be worth a try.” 

She exhales in relief, sagging back against the couch. “You won’t regret this,” she swears empathetically. “I promise. This is going to work.” 

“I really hope it is,” he tells her, holding out his free hand. “Partners?” 

She nods once, accepting the handshake. “Partners.” 

“All right. Now that that’s out of the way. . .” he glances up and looks over to the kitchen. “You want something to eat?” 

She glances at the clock, then looks at him incredulously. “It’s not even ten yet!” 

“I promised Poe I’d give him some carrots once we finished up.” 

“He’s a child,” she mutters sullenly. “He barely remembers the last two minutes.” 

“That’s not a ‘no,’” he remarks cheerily standing up and looking down at her, holding out a hand to help her off the couch. “C’mon. My treat.” 

“I really should get going, I have work tonight – ” 

“You owe me one, Erso,” he says. “The least you could do is help me feed him mashed up carrots.” 

“I don’t owe you sh–” 

“You know, maybe we don’t need to meet with your brother – ”

“This is blackmail,” she mutters. “I’m being blackmailed.” 

With that, he starts heading toward the fridge, not bothering to look if she’s following behind him. 

“Cassian, wait – “ She’s standing too, but her arms are wrapped around her midriff, eyes on the ground. She looks – unsure of herself, something he’s never seen on her face before. “I really am sorry. For yesterday. I appreciate you hearing me out today. Despite that.” 

It’s not often that someone like Jyn Erso apologizes, even rarer that she does it twice within the same hour. A true smile crosses his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He reaches out to her, rubs a hand down her arm. She doesn’t pull away, and sparks fly underneath his fingertips. 

“I know,” he murmurs. “Thank you. Now, come on. Poe’s getting impatient.” 

Poe’s curled up contentedly in his arms, completely disputing that statement. Neither of them make a note of it, however, even if Jyn follows him into the kitchen with a touch of a smile on her face. 

If he’s being honest, he doesn’t know why he’d invited her to stay – it’s clear that they’re not friends. He tells himself it’s because it’ll be easier to work together if they’re on good terms, but he knows that’s not the whole reason. 

Is it wrong that he’s starting to enjoy her company?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, jyn and cass are back together! next chapter, we get some action – the fighting kind, not the romance kind (soon!)


	6. Chapter 6

_“Bodhi? Hey, it’s me. Jyn. I know I haven’t called in awhile. . .I’m sorry. That probably – you probably don’t believe me. I should have done this sooner. I don’t even know what you’re up to these days or if this is even still your phone number. I’ve been a pretty shitty sister, huh? Fucking awful. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t call back, but I need you, Bods._

_I’m in trouble. Again. No fuckin’ surprise there, huh? The only way I’m going to get out of this is if I bring down one of your former employers. I was hoping we could meet up, talk for a bit. That’s all I wanna do – talk. You don’t have to fight my battles or whatever. I don’t expect you to do that – I don’t want you to do that._

_And if this all ends smoothly, I want you back in my life. Permanently. I mean, if you want to spend time with me again. I know it’s a lot to ask, I know you don’t like talking about those days anymore. . .but please. Hah – you know I never beg, but I’m willing to, especially if it means getting you back._

_I’m sorry. Please call me back. I miss you.”_

* * *

“You’re not supposed to use the radio for useless chatter.” 

“Why not?” Jyn asks, pushing her bangs off of her sweaty forehead, looking up at Kay with a breathless laugh, eyes dancing. “It makes these kind of things much more fun. There’s no harm in it.” 

“It’s distracting,” he grumbles, adjusting his glasses and glaring down at her, “and it will easily let the enemy know where we are.” 

“If it’s so distracting, then why are you talking back?” She rolls her eyes, then adds under her breath, “I’m not going to be talking if we go quiet. I’m not _stupid,_ you know.” 

“That remains to be seen.” 

“Cassian,” she says, pressing her earpiece so she’s transmitting directly to him. He can hear them at all times, but the sound of their voices is likely background noise to the surveillance he’s doing. “Can you tell your pet robot to start being nice to me?” 

_“Both of you need to focus,”_ he replies, a hint of steel in his voice. _“There’s a heat signature in the room to your left. I’d check it out – might be our guy.”_

If he could have been here, Jyn knows it would be Cassian standing next to her instead of his partner. It’s a simple operation – just tracking down one of her Partisan contacts that she has little connection to – but he’s not authorized for field work yet. Kay’s here as a favor to him. While he doesn’t know the details of her crazy plan to take down the Empire, he understands that this small arrest will help keep her freedom. Even if he doesn’t like her much, his loyalty to Cassian is seemingly unbreakable. She has to respect him for that, even if he is an irritating son of a bitch. 

“Got it,” she murmurs back, shooting a look at Kay that says _“See, I can be quiet!”_

In an uncharacteristic show of restraint, Jyn lets Kay take point on entering the room. He’s a trained professional, she’s learned most of what she knows from a gang. While she knows her methods are infallible and can get the work done just as well if not better than he can, it’s easier to follow his lead. Less questions and fewer chances of miscommunication if they stick to a more structured approach. This isn’t something she can afford to mess up.

Once she’s in the clear, her freedom guaranteed, she’ll be in the lead. It’ll be enjoyable seeing how Kay and Cassian deal with the chaotic, messy guerrilla tactics she’s known to employ – it’ll take their egos down a peg, though she only has one target in mind with strategy. 

For now, however, she follows.

They’re in the main room of the drug warehouse, flashlights off to avoid detection. Broken windows up near the roof let beams of sunlight in, dust swirling in the bright light. Despite the bits of visibility, the room still has dark shadows and hidden alcoves – the perfect place for a spice dealer to hang out and lay low when not working. 

To get Cassian to agree to start looking into Krennic, she had to pass over all the notes she’d taken on her former gang and help the precinct take down minor members. They would ignore Saw and Maia for as long as they could, saving them for the last round-ups of arrests, but Jyn never planned on the investigations getting that far. If it works out, Krennic will be in prison by the end of the year. 

(If it doesn’t, it’ll be _her_ behind bars. She’s already decided that she’s not going to give up her people.)

Until that day comes, the department will be focusing on low-level drug dealers then moving their way up the ranks. It’s easier to target the people on the fringes than the higher-ups, especially those who tend to be hired muscle, mercenary-like soldiers as she’d been, and those who focused on the legal aspects of running a gang without getting caught by the police. . .so long as there isn’t an ex-con informant working against them. 

Jyn stays a few feet behind Kay as he moves forward, signaling for her to cover him as he heads toward the door. Cassian hasn’t alerted them to any other people in the building, but technology has failed before and it will again. It’s best to stay cautious in these kinds of situations, to be on your guard and never assume the mission’s over until you’re back home and done for the night. 

She curls her fingers around her gun, feeling weighed down by the amount of body armor she’s wearing. Almost all of it is Cassian’s old gear – from the bulletproof vest to the old, blue parka that’s much warmer than any coat she could ever afford. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, not one that she’s used to in the middle of a fight. The Partisans don’t layer up quite like this; it’s a far cry from the dark clothes and the misshapen pieces of protection they’d slapped together. 

“How are we doing this?” she says quietly once they’re in position. “Stealth or kicking the door down, guns blazing?” 

Kay sniffs, as if she’s asking an idiotic question. “There is a low possibility that he even knows we here. It’ll be easier to catch him off guard if we do this _quietly_.” 

_“Whoever’s in there is on the move,”_ Cassian says through their earpieces, urgently interrupting the end of Kay’s response. _“They’re not headed toward the door, but I get in there before they decide to leave.”_

No time like the present. Jyn nods sharply at Kay’s questioning look, signaling that she’s ready. Carefully, he places a gloved hand on the knob and opens the door as quietly as he can, wincing at the small creaks and sounds the decrepit piece of wood makes as it moves, scraping against the floor. 

When the door is fully open, they both pause, holding bated breaths to see if the person inside has noted their movements. There are many aspects of her life these days that Jyn is uncertain, but she only feels confidence now; her gun is steady in her hands, breathing even – _this_ is what she’s good at, and she knows it. 

_“No movement,”_ Cassian murmurs after a few seconds spent with bated breathing. _“Doesn’t look like they heard it. Looks like you’re good to go, but be careful.”_

If there hadn’t been a chance of the dealer overhearing them, Jyn would have quipped something back, probably along the lines of _“I’m always careful.”_ or _“Careful is my middle name.”_

Kay motions for her to follow him as he enters the dark room. She falls into place behind him easily, standing slightly to his left and scanning around with sharp eyes. The odor of the space hits her first – damp, musty, a hint of spice in the air. The smell of that alone is enough to make her skin crawl and her palms sweat; very few Partisans went their whole time in the gang without trying the drug once or twice. She pulls up her scarf from around her neck to cover her nose and mouth, hoping they’ll be out of her sooner rather than later. 

It takes a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light in the room. Once they do, however, she’s the first to notice the person-shaped lump in the corner of the room, covered in a ratty blanket. She nudges Kay’s attention over to them, nodding at him. She’ll watch his back while he takes care of the arrest, assuming that this is their guy. 

Dane Tapalo. If a picture hadn’t been attached to his file, Jyn wouldn’t have recognized him by description alone. Cassian thought this might be an easy arrest, one that they desperately needed in the wake of the Quix disaster. By the way things are unfolding now, she’s inclined to agree with him. Tapalo doesn’t even look as if he’s noticed they’re in the room with him. 

She lowers her gun slightly, but keeps her finger on the trigger, just in case. If they’re lucky, he won’t be quite sober yet. If he’s high, he’ll be erratic, manic, unpredictable. Being hungover will just make him irritable. But if they catch him on the come-down, he should be confused and disoriented enough for Kay to get cuffs around his wrists before he even realizes what’s going on. 

_“Looks like he’s settled down – asleep, or close to it. Go easy. You don’t want to startle him.”_

Kay crouches down next to the man, shaking his shoulder gently. “Dane Tapalo?” 

The man stirs, pulling the blanket farther up over his head. One bleary eye flicks open, hazy in a drug stupor, lips curling back around stained, yellow teeth. “Wha–who are you? Who’s askin’?” 

“Coruscant PD,” he replies, reaching into his vest and flipping open his badge, barely reacting when the man’s eyes widen in both disbelief and fear. “Answer the question.” 

“No, no, ‘m not him. Don’t know where he is, was just here. . .” 

Kay’s gaze shifts to Jyn as he stands. “Do you recognize him?” 

“Never seen him before,” she says lightly, but there’s a prickling feeling on the back of her neck, goosebumps making the hairs on her arms raise up despite the warmth of all her layers. Something isn’t right here – if Tapalo had just been here, then where is he now? Why hadn’t they seen any evidence of him before entering the room?

Unless. . .

She turns, only half-listening as Kay hauls up the addict, cuffs him, and dutifully begins to recite him his rights. One arrest is better than nothing, but she doesn’t feel like it’s over just yet. She presses a finger to her earpiece and says, “Andor? You reading anymore heat signatures in the building?” 

_“No, it doesn’t look like there’s anyone –_ mierda _, another heat signature just entered the building, moving quickly, you’ve got about five seconds before they – ”_

In their carelessness, Kay and Jyn hadn’t closed the door behind them when they’d entered the room. Her body is on full alert – Cassian’s still talking in her ear and Kay’s jumping up away from the addict, but she ignores them, blood rushing in her veins and heartbeat thrumming. 

Think. Focus. 

_B-r-e-a-t-h-e._

It happens in almost slow motion. A man appears in the doorway, firing a hailstorm of bullets down onto them, barely taking the time to aim. Inexperienced, not a trained fighter, but the odds are in his favor. Jyn whirls around to face the doorway fully, hair whipping across her face and gun snapping up to attention, but she moves too slowly. 

Her finger presses down on the trigger on a sharp exhale, but a shot hits her right in the chest, the force of the impact sending her backward, knocking the wind out of her lungs like a punch to the stomach, she can’t breathe, she can’t see if there’s still danger, if her and Kay are still in trouble as she staggers, nearly falling to her knees but remaining on her feet, with arm wrapped around her middle as if to hold in her insides but they’re not falling out. 

But it’s not enough to keep her down. Not enough to stop her. 

Alarm bells are ringing in her head, but she _knows_ she still has more fight in her. She growls, launching herself forward despite the pain and tackles the man down to the floor, arms looping around his sides and tugging him with her as she topples, his head slamming down onto the concrete floor on impact and the side of her body taking the brunt of the fall.

_“ –yn! Jyn, are you all right? Somebody tell me what’s going on in there, right fucking now, or I’ll – ”_

Her ears are ringing, the echoes of gunshots reverberating over and over in her brain, trying to figure out what happened. _Boom. Boom_. Two shots – one landed, the other? She wishes she could uncurl herself from where she’s huddled, one cheek, half of her face pressed down to the floor, eyes bleary and slightly wet. It feels as if she’s been hit by a baseball bat, slammed right into the chest, no blood, nothing warm beneath her fingertips where she’s holding herself together, no blood coming from her but it’s there. 

There’s no other gunshots. Hope sparks in Jyn’s stomach – perhaps she’d gotten him down long enough for Kay to arrest him. She feels gentle hands moving her onto her back, shifting her to the side. A voice: “He’s dead. She got him.” 

Her breathing comes easier now that her lungs are no longer constricted by the way she’d been positioned, but there’s still a raspy quality to it. Kay’s face enters her line of vision, and she manages to crack a smile at the sight. “You okay?” 

An eyebrow raises, wiry glasses slipping down his narrow face. “I’m fine. You didn’t have to tackle him, you know. Your shot rang true.” 

“That’s because. . .I’m fucking awesome,” she replies, letting her head thud back down to the ground and closing her eyes. 

Kay makes a sound of agreement back in his throat, tugging open her – _Cassian’s_ parka and trying to examine the damage caused. “Can I. . .” 

“Buy me a drink before you start taking my clothes off, Tuesso,” she mutters, the same words she’d told Cassian about a week ago. “Don’t think the bullet went through. It feels more like I’ve been hit in the chest with a fuckin’ hammer.” 

“Though the probability of that is high, I would still like to make sure – ” 

_“Jyn, I swear to God if you don’t answer me right now and tell me you’re okay, I will march down into that damn warehouse and see for myself!”_

Sharing an amused look with Kay, she doesn’t even bother to radio him directly, saying out into the air, “I’m fine. Just bruised.” 

_“Thank God,”_ he says back, the relief evident in his voice. _“It’s so dark in there, it’s hard to see, and I thought – well. I saw two people go down and neither of them got back up.”_

“Careful, Cassian,” Jyn quips back, but there’s a pleasantly warm feeling in her chest that hadn’t been there before. “It almost sounds like you care about me.” 

Meanwhile, Kay’s probing at the wound on her chest, frowning slightly. “The bullet’s stuck in the middle of the vest. If I pull it out of the fabric, it will likely aggravate the bruise on your chest. The best course of action will be for you to take all your layers off first and then assessing the damage.” 

_“There was a call about gunshots in the area,”_ Cassian reports. _“I’ve alerted the department that we need an ambulance and another squad car for back-up.”_

“I don’t need an ambulance!” Jyn snaps just as Kay retorts, “We don’t need back-up!” 

Cassian sighs over the other end of their radio. Despite not being able to see him, Jyn can picture his expression almost perfectly – fingers pinching the bridge of his noses, eyes closed for a few seconds as he processes his exasperation. _“Jyn, you got shot. There’s a dead man in the room and an addict in cuffs. Would you just stay where you are until help arrives?”_

At Cassian’s reminder, both Jyn’s and Kay’s eyes slide over to their previous arrest. He sits wide-eyed, handcuffs still locked around his wrists behind his back and face tucked into the wall, body curled up as small as possible.

“Well,” Jyn says, grunting as she tries to push herself up, “at least we got one, right?” 

“You should not be moving until the medical team has checked over your chest for internal bleeding, Jyn Erso.”

“Oh, fuck that,” she replies, batting Kay’s hands away when he tries to make her lay back down. “I just have to walk it off.” 

_“I wouldn’t try to change her mind once she’s made it,”_ Cassian offers up dryly, though he does add his own two cents in, _“even if it_ would _be better if you stayed put, Jyn.”_

“Like I said,” she repeats with a wince, letting Kay help her up onto her feet. Her knees shake slightly, but she remains upright, “ _fuck_ that.” 

* * *

Hours later, once the crime scene has been cleared and he’s been officially released from work, Cassian heads over to Jyn’s apartment with a six-pack of beer. He tells himself he’s only checking up on her to make sure that she’s okay, but the alcohol in his hand says a completely different story.

When he knocks on her door, she hollers loud enough to hear out in the hallway, “Not in the mood for visitors! Go away!”

“It’s Cassian!” he yells back, feeling a bit silly to be having this conversation through a door where all of her neighbors can hear it. “I, uh – I brought beer. Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

There’s a pause, like she’s mulling his request over. Without being able to see her face, he has absolutely no idea what she’s thinking. “All right,” she calls out finally. “But I don’t want to get up. Can you pick the lock?”

He groans, hitting his head against the door with a thump. That’s the last thing he wants to do right now, even _if_ he had the proper tools to do so. “Jyn – ” 

“I’m kidding!” she laughs, high and musical. _“Fuck_ – don’t make me laugh. _Shit._ But the door’s unlocked. Just walk in.” 

He exhales, shaking his head with a smile on his face as he enters, his eyes dancing with amusement. The past couple days, he’s realized just how _funny_ she could be when she wanted to be – even her sarcastic comments have a certain appeal to them. 

But the sight he sees when he goes into her living room wipes the smirk off his lips. His stomach drop. Jyn’s stretched out along her ratty couch, button-up shirt half-open with a bag of ice sitting on her bare skin. From what he can tell, there’s a large blue and black bruise blooming underneath the fabric. Since he hadn’t been able to see her right after the mission, he hadn’t seen just how bad she looked.

(If he had been there instead of Kay, he wouldn’t have let her leave without proper attention. If he had been her partner, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all.)

A dark look passes over his eyes, one that Jyn picks up on almost immediately. “It looks worse than it feels,” she says, shifting her back up the arm of the couch so she’s no longer laying flat. “And it’s nothing I haven’t had before. Have had a lot worse, actually.” 

He settles himself in the lone chair, placing the beer on the table. Jyn eyes it, but says nothing. “You’ve gotten shot in the chest more than once?” 

“Hasn’t everyone?” she quips, half her mouth curling into a self-deprecating smirk. “The Partisans didn’t have bulletproof vests, though – I probably would have died without it. Think I’m going to have to get one of my own, Andor. It’s useful.” 

The thought of her dead, bleeding out on the floor from a shot to the chest, gasping and unable to breathe – and all without him there beside her – has him nearly in a panic. He swallows, managing to say in a strangled voice, “Yeah, yeah – you can have one. Of course.” 

Then, “Ah – do you want something to drink? I brought beer. It’s. . .” _It’s on the table._ He gestures to it weakly, silently cursing himself for acting like an idiot. 

She closes her eyes. “I’m trying not to drink as much these days,” _shit, of course she’s not –_ ”but I bought these little bottles of wine for special occasions. They’re in the fridge, if you could. . .” 

He jumps out of his seat almost immediately. “I got it.” 

The wine is comically small, no more than six ounces in liquid in it. It looks cheap, too – and _disgusting_. But alcohol is alcohol no matter what it looks like. He hands her one of the bottles with a small smile, snagging one of his beers on the away to his seat. 

Holding up his drink, he says in a toast, “To making an arrest today.” 

“Hardly an arrest,” she mutters, but adds, “To keeping me out of prison.” 

He’ll drink to both of those. They each take a sip, but only Jyn wheezes as the alcohol goes down. “I keep forgetting about this,” she waves at her midsection with a frown. “Hurts to swallow.” 

“Are you – “ 

As soon as he opens up his mouth, concerned, Jyn dumps the entire bottle of wine down her throat and drains it in one gulp. He snaps his jaw shut with an audible click, eyes comically wide.

“What?” she looks at him innocently, batting her eyelashes. “Swallowing hurts. I thought I’d just do it all at once, save me some pain later.” 

Cassian is, once again, floored by the woman in front of him. 

For the next ten or so minutes, the two of them make small talk until he finishes his beer. It’s a nice, quiet atmosphere that he hadn’t thought Jyn could ever thrive in, but he finds himself enjoying the conversation they’re having, even if it’s sometimes a bit lacking. She can be surprisingly thoughtful when taken out of the fight. Smart, too.

Though she’s told him more than once that she’s already contacted her brother, the lack of a response worries him. She hasn’t spoken to him in about year – what if he no longer wants anything to do with her? Their _entire_ plan depends on her brother’s help; without it, they’re back where they started. 

“Have you heard from your brother yet?” he hedges, not wanting to further irritate her with his pushing but needing to know all the same. 

Other than her eyebrows narrowing slightly, her expression is impassive. “No. I haven’t.” 

“You know, if you wanted to. . .” he shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. “We’ve got a pretty sizable database at the precinct. You could come in one day, get more detailed information about him – ” 

Jyn shuts that down quickly. “I’m not going to show up to his house uninvited. If he doesn’t want to see me, then I’m not going to force my presence on him. I owe him that, at the very least. After everything.” 

Just what had Jyn and her brother went through to make her say that, to make her be so stubborn on this issue? It’s something that's hindering their investigation. “You don’t have much time,” he shoots back, just as firm. “If this takes any longer, you’ll be back in jail before you even hear from him.” 

“I said _no,_ Cassian.” Her jaw is set, eyes blazing. “If he doesn’t get back to me before the week is over, then I’ll find another way.” 

He could laugh, but he's smart enough not to. “How?” 

“I don’t know yet!” If she could throw up her arms without hurting her chest, he imagines that she would. “I don’t know, okay? But I will. You have to _trust_ me.” 

That’s the one word that can make him back down. Trust. If this plan to bring down the Empire is going to work, then they’re going to have to be confident in the other person’s abilities to do what they say they’re going to do. She’s trusted him this far, giving him more details about her life than they even have on record; almost to repay her for giving so much of herself up to him, he can, at the very least, give her the benefit of the doubt. If she says that she has a back-up plan, then he has to believe that she does. 

(She can be quite crafty when she wants to be.) 

To make things worse, it finally – _finally!_ – feels as if he’s doing something useful after so much time spent behind a desk. He’s not going to let this opportunity go to waste, not going to let Jyn down after he’s put so much energy into keeping her out of prison. 

There are still Partisans to arrest, after all. 

Cassian exhales, but nods all the same. “All right. You’ve got until Friday to get into contact with him. If you can’t, we’re going to do this my way.” 

“Deal,” she agrees, raising her chin up a little higher. “I’ve got this, Cassian.” 

Though slightly unsure of his words, he tells her anyway, “I know.” 

* * *

_“Jyn, I – I didn’t know that this was even your number anymore. I would have. . .would have tried to call earlier but I didn’t know. . .I. . .well, maybe we’re both to blame here? I could have tried a little harder when you, uh, disappeared._

_I haven’t worked with them for, for a while now. But you probably know that already. Right. If you think I can help, then of course I’ll help. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Jyn. Even – even now._

_I really would like to see you again. This is my number. So you can, uh, you can text me or I can text you and we can set something up. A meeting. To talk about the – my old boss. I don’t know where we should do that. Probably not somewhere public. I, I guess you would know more about that kind of stuff, huh? I’ll let you figure that out. If that’s okay – I can, you know. Also try to figure it out._

_I love you, Jyn. Let’s agree to not, not leave each other again, okay? You’re one of the only people I have left and I. . .I’d hate to lose you. Again._

_Uh. Please text me, okay?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did my best with the bulletproof vest segment. i'm not positive how it works (thankfully i've never been shot so!) and this what i found in my research. people describe being shot in the chest with it on like being hit with a hammer and you'll have a big ole bruise, but you can usually get up and keep going (with pain, naturally)


	7. Chapter 7

Jyn can’t remember the last time she’d been _this_ nervous. 

Cassian stands steady behind her, but even his calming presence does nothing to keep her hands from shaking and her palms from sweating. She exhales sharply, wiping down the moisture on the front of her jeans, and does what she hasn’t done in years. 

She prays.

 _If there’s anyone up there,_ she thinks desperately, turning her eyes up to the sky, head tilted slightly back. _Mama, God – please. Please let this go okay. I need this to go okay, I can’t – I can’t lose anyone else._

“Jyn?” Cassian asks, placing a hand on her shoulder and looking at her with concerned eyes. She flinches slightly under the sudden touch, shifting her focus away from the clouds and back to him. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” she lies quickly, her voice sounding too high even to her own ears. Anyone, but especially a trained detective, could hear the strain in her words. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“You sure?” One of his eyebrows ticks upward, a look of sheer disbelief flashing over his face. “Is it your chest?” 

“No. My chest is fine.” The bruise in question, the reason behind his visit earlier that week, is yellow and green now, and still hurts when she moves too much – but if she’s mobile, she’s fine. 

“Then what is it? You look. . .rattled.” 

“Why the hell do you even care?” she spits out, using her anger to hide the surprise at his seemingly genuine concern. Even though he’d come over a few nights ago to check on her, the two of them, at most, are partners. Once she’s done fulfilling her end of the contract with the police department, they’ll go their separate ways. They’re not friends or family or – or lovers. They’re not _anything._

(No matter how much Jyn may or may not want it otherwise, their relationship is strictly professional. Most of the time. Sometimes, they walk that fine line between friends and co-workers and perhaps something else, too.) 

“Of course I care about you, Jyn,” he replies indignantly, confusion passing over his features. They’ve gotten pretty close over the past few days, and now she’s driving a wedge into that. It’s what she does best – destroys relationships before they even happen. At least she’s consistent. “We’re. . .we’re – “ 

He trails off, licking his lips and glancing down at her, a hint of desperation in his eyes. He can’t think of the word, doesn’t know how to explain their relationship either. 

(It’s almost like a blow to the chest.)

“That’s what I thought,” she sneers, crossing her arms over her chest and looking away from him, jaw clenching. “We’re not anything.” 

Though he’s no longer in her line of sight, Jyn can practically _feel_ him stiffening. “You’re right,” he says, slipping back into the formalities of their earlier days. “I was wrong to assume otherwise.” 

Fuck if that doesn’t hurt. 

She ignores the pang in her heart, telling herself she’s better off this way. The feelings she’d been developing for him – feelings that she’s refused to define thus far – have been distracting her from what’s really important. When’s she’s worried about Cassian’s health or safety or just thinking about him in general, she’s not focused on staying out of prison. That has to be her top priority right now. 

(Maybe later, when that’s not so pressing, she could. . .)

Her nerves are already strung-out, mind racing and full of anxious thoughts. Bodhi’s supposed to be here by now; they’re standing outside his flat, loitering like they’re not supposed to be there. Every second that passes makes her even more nervous. What if he doesn’t come? What if he got into a car accident? What if he doesn’t want to see her anymore? 

“Jyn – ah fuck, you’re _bleeding._ ” 

Her jaw unclenches, tongue darting out to collect the beads of blood on her lower lip. She hadn’t even noticed she’d been biting it until Cassian had pointed it out, teeth digging in hard enough to break the skin. She sucks it into her mouth, the coppery taste making her grimace. 

“Stop caring about me,” she mutters half-heartedly. 

“It’s a little difficult when you’re _hurting_ yourself – ” 

Jyn’s about to shoot back a response about how she’s doing no such thing when a car pulls up to the curb where they’re standing. When she sees a familiar face in the reflection of the window, she stiffens, her heart racing a mile a minute. 

This is it. She’s not ready. 

Bodhi steps out of the car. She does her best to keep her face neutral, but there’s a sob rising up in her throat. It’s been too long since she’s seen him last; her eyes scan every inch of his body that she can see for anything wrong, but there’s nothing. He looks – he looks _good,_ and she’s going to destroy him with all the shit that’s going on in her life right now. 

“I can’t do this,” she whispers hoarsely as Bodhi approaches them, a hesitant smile on his face. “I can’t do this, I have to leave – ” 

Smoothly, Cassian steps in front of her and holds out a hand for Bodhi to shake. He’s like a shield in front of her, protecting her for a few seconds while she struggles to compose herself. Despite her harsh words earlier, it’s moments like these that make her heart swell in gratitude, moments like these where she thinks she lo– 

Focus.

“You must be Jyn’s brother,” he says with a smile. Behind him, Jyn breathes in and out, trying not to fall into a panic. “I’m Cassian Andor.” 

Bodhi shakes Cassian’s outstretched hand, but it’s a quick and shaky movement. His arms flutter at his sides, picking at strings on his sweater. “I’m Bodhi Rook,” he says, but his attention is elsewhere, craning his neck to look behind Cassian and see her. “Jyn, are you. . .” 

She takes a step around Cassian, faces her brother for the first time. “Hey, Bo,” she tries with a smile, her voice cracking, emotions shining through despite her best attempts to rein them in. Her whole body shudders. “I’ve really missed you.” 

He raises his arms, outstretched in her direction, but doesn’t make a move until he asks, “Can I. . .?” 

Without a word, she steps into his embrace and holds him tightly, face tight against his shoulder and neck. There’s moisture in her eyes, falling onto Bodhi’s skin; she clutches him closer, closer, fingers digging into the back of his shirt and pulling him to her. “I’m so sorry,” she rasps. “Never again, I promise. I’m sorry, Bodhi.” 

To his credit, Bodhi’s holding her just as tightly, nearly picking her off from the ground. When he releases her, they remain within arm’s reach, still gripping each other’s forearms. His face is so warm, earnest, loving – fuck, she could start crying right here. She doesn’t deserve this kind of forgiveness from anyone, let alone her brother who she’s hurt time and time again. 

“You look good,” she rasps, reaching up to push a piece of his hair off of his forehead. “Your hair is longer.” 

“You know, hair – hair grows, Jyn,” he laughs teasingly, but the moment is broken when he glances at Cassian from the corner of his eye. “You look. . .what’s this about? Why do you need my help?” 

“Maybe it’s best if we discussed this inside.” So wrapped up in her own emotions, Jyn had forgotten that Cassian was standing behind him before hearing his voice. She quickly takes a step back from Bodhi, shaking her head as if to clear it; she’d lost herself, allowed herself to be vulnerable without taking note of _who_ she’s being vulnerable in front of. It shouldn’t bother her, but it does – his opinion means _nothing_ to her. 

(That’s what she tells herself, anyway.)

Bodhi’s apartment is messy, but it has that organized feel that her dumpster of a living space doesn’t. There’s plates in his sink but they’re clean, piles of clothes next to the laundry room stacked neatly, and a clutter of books sitting on his coffee table that look like they’re supposed to be there rather than things he’s forgotten to put away. 

Bodhi sets his bag down next to the door and slipped off his shoes, arranging them neatly next to the wall. She and Cassian copy his movements, albeit with a pause on her end; it’s much easier to run when a situation gets bad without worrying about sliding boots back on – but this is Bodhi’s apartment and she’ll follow his example. Besides, the last thing she wants to do is track mud over his clean, white tile flooring. 

Her eyes rove over the space, noting each and every detail. There’s an old airplane ticket hanging up on the fridge with a magnet. She takes a step forward, reaches up and traces her fingers over the crumbled paper. “Did you finally. . .?” 

Her question hangs in the air. She turns around to face Bodhi, who’s smiling excitedly. “Yeah, I graduated, uh, a couple months ago. I’m a, a licensed pilot and everything.” 

She’s so, so happy for him – but her heart sinks at the knowledge that she’s missed yet another big milestone in his life. That ceremony is something she should have been there before, and instead she’d spent the time behind bars. “That’s fucking awesome. I’m so proud of you.” 

He ducks his head under her praise, beaming. “Thanks, Jyn. Are you still – still at the bar?” 

“We can talk more about that later,” she says dismissively, shaking her head and effectively ending that line of conversation. 

“Do you – you and Cassian want something to drink?” her brother asks, wiping his palms down on the front of his pants. The coffee machine already whirling to life, and Bodhi grabs three mugs before hearing their response. 

Despite her stomach churning, she agrees. “That sounds nice, Bo. Thanks.” 

Cassian echoes the sentiment, shooting a small, secretive smile her way. She grins back before remembering herself, ducking her head to the side and wiping the expression off of her face. She needs to focus on the mission, on staying out of Wobani – _not_ on Cassian. 

And then Bodhi has to go and ask, “So are you two together?” 

“Huh?” 

“Like, you know,” he gestures between them, cheeks reddening. _“Together.”_

Jyn chokes on her drink, just managing to swallow what’s in her mouth before spitting it out all over the table. Her voice is strangled when she says, perhaps a bit _too_ quickly, “We work together – he’s my _boss_.” 

(Is it just a trick of the light or does Cassian flinch next to her? It’s barely noticeable, but they’re been working together for weeks now; she’s learned to read him, knows more about what he’s thinking from his body language alone.) 

Bodhi’s eyes widen, alarmed. “I’m sorry – it’s just, Jyn looks at you like – okay, yeah. I’m shutting up now. Lips sealed.” He hooks an ankle around one of the barstools up against the counter, pulling it out with a surprising ease and settling on it, both hands wrapped around his mug. “Jyn, you said you were – you were in trouble? What can I do to help?” 

She takes a seat across from him, Cassian sits at her side. She takes a deep breath and starts. “About a month ago, I was released from Wobani after making a deal with the police that I come work for them. I only served six months of my twenty year sentence.” 

Under any other circumstances, she would not be telling him this. The horror and pity that flashes across Bodhi’s face is almost comical; he looks as if he wants to reach out to her but stops himself at the last sentence. “Jyn, I – ” 

Knowing him, he probably blames himself for her own actions, thinking that if he’d been there for her, she wouldn’t have ended up where she had. But it takes two to tango, and she certainly hadn’t done shit to improve her situation. It’s just as much her fault for not reaching out to him sooner. 

“Just let me finish,” she interrupts, close to begging. Just like before, Cassian’s presence beside her is a calming, solid rock for her to grip onto; she pulls some of that energy into herself, willing her body to take deep, even breaths. Panic will only make all the more difficult to tell her story. “In order to stay free, I have to help the department make arrests. For the past couple weeks, we’ve been working on getting some of the lower ranking members of the Partisans. But now. . .Cassian’s superiors – they want more from me and I don’t know what to give.” 

“Jyn seems to think that you can give us information about the Empire,” Cassian continues. “It’s either that, or Saw Gerrera.” 

“It, it won’t be easy,” Bodhi replies, looking down when he speaks, picking at the skin around his nails. “Especially because I don’t work for them anymore. Jyn, you should just – you don’t owe Saw anything. Not after what he did to us. To _you.”_

Cassian looks curiously between the two of them, eyebrows raised, but thankfully doesn’t raise any questions. He doesn’t know this about her; it’s clear that they don’t have it on file. After Saw abandoned her, she’d chosen not to speak about it to anyone not involved. As far as most know, she’d left the Partisans out of her own volition. 

Her hands curl into fists, white-knuckled and clenched together. “I can’t turn him in,” she says vehemently. “I know what he did to you was unforgivable, and I’ll _never_ forgive him for that. But he _raised_ me, I can’t just. . .” 

“What he did to you was unforgivable, too,” Bodhi reminds her gently. “You need stop making excuses for what he did.” 

“It was necessary,” she replies lamely, pointedly not looking her brother in the eye. Deep down, she knows he’s right. “He had to do it.” 

“He didn’t have to do _shit._ ” Bodhi never swears, so the pointed curse gets her attention, making her look up sharply. “There were a dozen other things he could have done, but he didn’t. He, he _chose_ to leave you behind.” 

Her nostrils flare, eyes closing to hide the raw pain she’s feeling. _“Stop,”_ she says firmly. “I don’t care – I can’t turn him in. The only way for me to stay out of prison is to get Krennic. If we don’t, I’m going back. That’s it.” 

“Jyn. . .” Bodhi trails off, looking uncertain. “I don’t know if this is a good idea. He’s dangerous. There’s a – a reason why I left, and I don’t think. . .sometimes it feels like they’ve never, you know. Forgiven me for that decision.” 

She’s not an idiot – she knows that she’s not the only one who has something to lose her. Bodhi might have the most out of all of them; the Empire doesn’t take kindly to those who defect. 

“If you don’t want to help, you don’t have to,” she tells him. “I won’t hold it against you – we can still stay in touch.” _For as long as I stay free, that is._

“No, I’m not going to let do this by yourself. Either of you.” There’s a new confidence in Bodhi’s gaze that she’s never seen before, making her heart swell with pride. In the days she’s been missing from his life, Bodhi’s made great strides forward. He’s no longer the timid, quiet man she’d known him to be. 

“Right then,” Jyn nods sharply. “Let’s get to work then, boys.” 

* * *

Cassian watches the whole exchange quietly, but not passively. He notes the reactions that certain memories bring up in both Jyn and Bodhi, making mental observations and adding to the internal database he’s collected on the two of them thus far. 

Bodhi’s the exact opposite of what he’d been expecting. Foolishly, he’d assumed that Jyn’s brother would be like her; even adopted, he would have the same aggressive mannerisms that she does. Instead, he seems – _good_. That’s not saying that Jyn isn’t (even if she’ll kill him for saying it), but Bodhi has this energy around him that immediately puts Cassian at ease. He would be a good cop if he ever wanted to go down that path, but based on the joy in his eyes when he’d told Jyn he’s a licensed pilot, that’s unlikely. 

And while he hadn’t thought Jyn would be unaffected by seeing her brother again, she’s much more nervous than he’d anticipated. Her skin is paler than usual, hands shaking, knee bouncing against the bottom of the stool. When he’d touched her arm earlier, her pulse had been racing. 

And the way she’d snapped at him. . .he’d known immediately that it was because of the immense amount of stress she’s under. He hadn’t taken it personally and still doesn’t; he suspects she’ll say something once this is over, when she relaxes. 

(They’re past pretending they don’t care about each other.)

“I don’t know how much I’ll be able to help you,” Bodhi starts tentatively. “But I – we know someone who might be better than, than I am.” 

Immediately, Jyn clams up. Even next to her, Cassian can see the whites of her eyes around her pupils. “No. Absolutely not.” 

There’s this frustrated set to Bodhi’s face that Cassian often finds himself doing when Jyn’s being unreasonable. This time, however, he has no idea what they’re arguing about. He glances between the pair, trying to gauge the severity; her reaction tells him she knows who’s Bodhi’s talking about and doesn’t like it one bit. 

The last thing he wants is for Jyn to let her anger get the best of her, for her to ruin the tentative relationship she’s just rekindled with her brother. He doesn’t know if it’ll work, but his first and immediate reaction is to place a hand on her arm to ground her. She glances at him sharply, questioning, but doesn’t flinch or pull away like he’d expected. It’s a pleasant surprise, especially in the face of their earlier interactions that day.

“Jyn, come on,” Bodhi tries again. “You know he would help if you asked him.” 

“I don’t _care,_ ” she spits, shaking her head. Cassian tightens his grip over her hand gently, fingers curling over the contours of her clenched hand. _Easy, easy,_ he thinks, hoping that the thoughts alone might calm him. “I don’t want to talk to him. I came to you, Bodhi, not him.” 

“If there’s someone else we could ask, then we need to do it,” Cassian says firmly, ignoring the betrayed look Jyn shoots his way. 

“I can reach out to Chirrut and Baze,” she tries desperately, looking between the two of them with an almost frantic glaze to her expression. “They have to know something, especially after the Empire took Jedha. We don’t have to talk to _him._ ” 

“Chirrut and Baze haven’t been inside the Empire,” Bodhi replies evenly. “I – I have. And so has Galen.” 

_Galen. . .Galen Erso?_ The puzzle pieces finally snap together in Cassian’s mind. He licks his dry lips before asking hoarsely, “I thought he was dead?” 

“He _is,_ ” Jyn snaps at the same time Bodhi says, “He’s _not._ Jyn just – just like to pretend that he is.” 

At that, she wrenches her hand out from underneath Cassian’s hold and stands up, nearly knocking her stool to the ground; it’s only his quick reflexes that prevent it from tumbling down to the ground. She looks like a wounded animal, defensive and ready to bite. He almost wants to put his hands up in a sign of surrender, to show that he’s not going to hurt her. 

Time to do some damage control before Jyn lashes out and does something she’ll regret; he can tell her mood is slipping down fast. He turns to Bodhi, says placatingly, “You still worked for them, right, Bodhi? Any information you have would be appreciated.” 

Glancing between the two of them nervously, Bodhi bites his lip. “I don’t know how much I can give you,” he manages. “I worked mostly for Galen – he, he knows more than I do.” 

“But you know something,” Cassian encourages, giving a soft smile when Bodhi nods hesitantly. “Let’s start there, okay?” 

It’s slow going, but he eventually starts to get Bodhi to open up. Anything he says, Cassian scribbles down onto his notepad, no matter how small or inane the detail seems. Eventually, Bodhi gets comfortable enough to start drawing floor plans and layouts of the building he worked in. 

As the minutes go by, Jyn edges her way back into the conversation, leaving the side of the room and back into her spot at his side. Since he’d caught her chair from falling earlier, it’s closer to him than it had been – but when she moves to sit into it, she barely shifts it away from him. It’s closer than they’ve ever willingly been, but he does his best to ignore the feeling of her body heat so close to his chest, even if the tips of his ears gradually start to redden. He feels like a teenager again. 

“Tell us about Krennic,” Jyn interrupts suddenly, leaning over the table with a new ferocity in her eyes. She jabs at the paper Bodhi’s working on with her index finger, tapping the layout. “This is helpful, but we’re targeting him. What’s his daily routine, when does he get in every day, when does he leave?” 

“I don’t – I don’t really know much. I didn’t work for him directly, not like. . .” her brother tries, hands fidgeting with the coffee mug in front of him. Neither of them will say Galen’s name out loud, dancing around the word almost as if the sound of it is taboo. “That’s why you should talk to – ” 

“I don’t want anything to do with him,” Jyn hisses out. “He made his choice all those years ago and I made mine.” 

Bodhi’s face is earnest, pleading. “I know he’s sorry about that. He regrets what he did and wants to make it better. He – he misses you, Jyn.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“He’s your _father_ – ” 

“That _man_ is not my father,” she snaps back, her voice harsh and cold. It’s the first time Cassian’s heard her use it around Bodhi; her brother immediately reels back. Jyn softens almost immediately, realizing the potential harmful impact of her tone. “Bo – ” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” he says, his voice shaking, hands up. “I shouldn’t have – shouldn’t have pushed. I, I know how hard it’s been. For you.” 

All of the air leaves Jyn’s body at that. She sags, shoulders hunching, knees shaking. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “It’s been hard, but I should be better. I need to get better.” 

Cassian takes a step back, feeling as if he’s intruding in the moment; the siblings no longer acknowledge his presence. He watches as Bodhi touches her shoulder gently, then pulls her into a hug. He looks away, feeling voyeuristic. 

After a few minutes, Jyn’s calmed considerably. Her eyes are red and puffy, but there’s no sign of tear tracks on her cheeks. “Are you ready to go?” 

He answers that with another question, not wanting to push her. “Are you?” 

“Yeah.” She looks to Bodhi, smiles a bit. “I’ll text you later, yeah? We can grab coffee sometime. Catch up.” 

“I’d – I’d really like that.” 

Both Jyn and Cassian pull on their shoes and head out with one more good-bye. As soon as they leave the building, he notices Jyn’s shaking; it’s not particularly cold, even for November, but he feels the need to offer up his coat anyway. “Do you want my parka?” 

“What?” she looks up at him, startled, then shakes her head. “I’m not cold – and the last time I wore that coat I got shot.” 

“You’re shivering,” he points out, noting the thin, threadbare leather jacket that she wears all the time. “I run hot – I don’t mind.” 

“No, I’m not cold,” she repeats, and he waits for her to clarify. “I’m – it feels as if I’ve just been in a fight. All the adrenaline and shit. Seeing him again. . .” she huffs out a breath, watching as it crystalizes in the cold air. “I’m not going to lie – that was hard.” 

“It’s hard with family,” he says. “There’s all this. . .pressure that goes along with it.” 

“Yeah,” she agrees, sounding relieved. She runs a hand through her hair, pushing her bangs back off of her forehead. “You get it.” 

His biological family may be dead, but that doesn’t mean he’s alone; as much as he tries to push them away, Shara and Kes have made it clear that they’re not getting rid of him any time soon. It hasn’t always been easy, but they’ve been by his side this whole time. 

Even with Bodhi in her corner, it feels like Jyn could use someone else rooting for her. If she wants, he could maybe be that person. 

“Come on,” he says, nudging her with his elbow. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m in the mood for breakfast.” 

She narrows her eyes, crossing her arms over his chest. “It’s almost one in the afternoon.” 

“So? You can have pancakes at any time in the day.” She still doesn’t look convinced, so he adds with a hint of a smile, “I’ll even let you pay for your own shitty black coffee that you like.” 

“All right,” she says finally. The muscles in her face twitch like she’s trying to hold down a smile. “I have a couple hours before my shift.” 

It’s not a date – he refuses to think of it as such – but it’s something. What he _does_ know for certain is that they’ve crossed that line; the relationship between them is no longer strictly professional.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay on this one!! i've got the next chapter written already so hopefully it won't happen again <3 thank you all for your continued support, it's what encourages me to keep going and write!


	8. Chapter 8

An hour into work that weekend, Jyn’s phone buzzes in her back pocket. Usually, she ignores any texts she gets at the bar – not wanting to be caught with her phone out on the clock – but it doesn’t stop, vibrating over and over again until she can’t help but pull it out of her jeans in irritation, ready to send an annoyed message back telling the caller to leave her the fuck alone ‘cause she’s fucking _busy._

DETECTIVE ANDOR flashes across the screen in big, bold letters with angry emojis following the name; she hasn’t bothered to change his contact information since he’d given it to her when they’re first met, when she’d been first fresh out of Wobani. It’s still fitting, even if she’s no longer the angry, spitting criminal recently released from prison, hating anyone who disagreed with her over the smallest thing. 

(She’d hated Cassian immediately. He’d been everything she wished she could have been – working a stable job, seemingly having his shit together with friends and family and _money._

She knows better now. They’re more alike than she’d first assumed.) 

The afternoon previous, they’d spent hours strategizing and bouncing ideas off of each other, only stopping because Jyn had to leave for work. Though Bodhi had given them vital information about the Empire they couldn’t have gotten without him, it isn’t enough to incriminate Krennic. If her brother’s words are anything to go by, they’re going to need to speak to someone who worked directly underneath the director. . .and there’s only one person she knows of that’s done that. 

Too bad he’s dead. 

She’s the only one at the bar tonight; her co-worker that had been scheduled to come in tonight conveniently hadn’t. It’s nearly three a.m., meaning that business is currently slow – especially on a Friday morning when most people have work to work a nine-to-five once the sun rises. The only people still here are the regulars, most of which will be back in the building as soon as it opens up again in a couple hours. 

Cassian knows her schedule, and he wouldn’t call while she’s on the clock unless he had an important reason to do so, such as a problem or information she needs to hear immediately. Slightly worried as to why he’s contacting her this early in the morning, she ducks in the backroom and answers her phone, keeping a close eye on the now unattended restaurant. 

But as soon as she opens her mouth to give her usual, tight greeting, Cassian’s already babbling on the other end of the line. His voice is wrenched incredibly tight, sounding as if he’s in an immense amount of pain. _“Kay, I need you to pick up my prescription. I really hate to ask you this, but I can’t – I can’t get out of bed, okay? I could really. . .fuck. It’s not going to happen.”_

Ah. He thinks that she’s Kay. _Fuck._

Jyn chews her lip, not wanting him to go on further and admit more details about himself than he wants her to know but not knowing how to interrupt when he’s so clearly in distress. He’s a secretive man; Kay and Cassian have partners for _years,_ and even _they_ don’t know everything about each other. If Kay told her he doesn’t know Cassian’s middle name, she wouldn’t even bat an eye – though she might make a jab about his inability to click a few buttons and access Cassian’s official police biography. 

She’s always been one to keep to herself, too, but all of her personal information and past is spilled out into the police database, taken from interrogations and observations from prison. Things she’s sworn never to tell anyone are open for any officer to see – shit with the Partisans, details about Saw Gerrera, what happened to her parents when she was eight. 

Though not everything is documented, it’s enough to make her uncomfortable. What happens when an untrustworthy officer stumbles across her history and tells the wrong person about it? That uncertainty is enough to make _anyone_ nervous, especially someone with the kind of secrets she has. 

But even though he has this advantage, Cassian’s never used his likely intensive knowledge of who she is against her. This phone call puts her on the same footing that he is, but she won’t do that to him, either. If he doesn’t want her to know about his back and leg and how much pain he’s in almost constantly, that’s fine. She doesn’t know a fucking thing, she’s _never_ known a fucking thing. 

She’s silent for too long. _“Kay? Are you there?”_

“Cassian?” she swallows, closing her eyes slightly when she hears nothing on the other end of the line. “It’s Jyn, not Kay. You called the wrong number.” 

Immediately after she speaks, he starts swearing violently in Spanish. She doesn’t understand a lot of it – makes a mental note to ask him to teach her a couple words – but winces all the same. She doesn’t apologize often, but it feels warranted in this situation, the word slipping out hesitantly, “Sorry.” 

_“No, no, it’s – ah. It’s fine.”_ There’s rustling on his end. _“My finger must have slipped. You and him are my most recent calls, must have hit you instead. I. . .are you working?”_

“Yeah.” 

_“Shit. I’m sorry, Jyn. Didn’t mean to bother you, I know how important your work is.”_

“No, don’t be sorry,” her voice trails off as she peeks her head out of the backroom. There’s a customer at the bar, one who’s gesturing at her to get back and do her damn job. She scowls, resisting the urge to flip him off, mouthing “give me a second.” Time to finish this call up. “Listen, I gotta go – ” 

_“You go,”_ he’s quick to interrupt her, but she’s not finished yet. 

“Give me a second. I’m closing in about twenty minutes. If you need me to swing by and get you something on my way home, it wouldn’t be much trouble at all.” She doesn’t make a comment about refilling his prescription – that might be too intimate for the level they’re at – but she can at least stop at a drugstore and pick up some over the counter shit. Pills, a heated blanket, snacks. “Just let me know if you need anything.” 

_“No, no – thank you, though. I’ll be fine. It’s not a big deal.”_

It sounds like a big fucking deal, especially when he’s calling Kay at nearly three in the fucking morning to ask for pain medicine, but she doesn’t snap that back at him, deciding that now is probably not the best time to argue. “All right. I’ll see you later, Andor.” 

_“See you, Jyn.”_ He doesn’t have to ask for her not to repeat this conversation nor bring it up again; that’s implied in the casualness of the way they end the call, the attempt to make it seem as if nothing’s wrong. 

Still, as she slips her phone back into her jean pocket and moves to go serve the man waiting for her, she begins to make a plan in her mind. After all, it’s not like her to do nothing, especially not when it’s for someone she cares about. 

(Besides, she rationalizes, it’s a gesture that he would do for her. She’s only paying back a figurative favor.)

* * *

The next morning (or, perhaps, more correctly – a few hours later) comes irritatingly fast. Her alarm blares, leaving her with too little sleep to function, but she rolls out of bed and starts her day anyway. The coffee she brews is horribly bitter, the dregs of it sticking to the bottom of her cup and making her grimace once she reaches them, but it’s better than nothing. She has shit to do today, shit that she has to be semi-awake for. 

Last night had brought forth many revelations. Despite herself, she’d struggled not to worry about Cassian’s condition through the rest of her shift and the rest of the night. It’s difficult not to call him up immediately and ask if he’s all right, but his tone last night had told her that would be the last thing he would want. 

But she’s not going to sit around and do nothing. 

While she has to work again tonight, her whole morning and afternoon are free, and she doesn’t feel like wasting the day away in her apartment. She pulls on an old college hoodie of a school with a name she doesn’t recognize, a pair of leggings, and her muddy gym shoes filled with holes. As she heads out the door, she ties her hair up into a messy ponytail and slips in her headphones, starting to jog as soon as her feet hit the concrete pavement. 

The cold air sinks deep into her lungs, the bitter November breeze pushing strands of her hair all over her face. Un-showered and still smelling of the haziness of the bar, it’s a welcome freshness that leaves her feeling sharp and more refreshed. Each pulse of the music, each beat of her feet against the street, each measured breath in through her nose and out through her mouth leaves her feeling more like herself. When she finally stops about an hour later with a red face and sweat sticking down her bangs, there’s a plan half formed in her mind with what she’s going to do in her few free hours. It’s not concrete, not fully finished, but it’s enough to spur her into action. She’ll improvise the rest as it happens. 

Back at her apartment, she strips and showers, lingering underneath the water for a little longer than she can afford. The hot spray pounds against her back, loosening sore muscles both from her run and being hunched over her laptop the day before. Once she gets out, the mirror is fogged over from the heat, bathroom filled with steam. She wipes her hand against the glass, but it only obscures her vision of herself further, the sharp contours of her face hazy and wiggly. 

She reaches up, touches her jaw. Feels the bone under her tight skin that she can’t, presses in the concave of her cheekbones. She can just barely make out the old eyeliner ringed around her eyes, dark and smudged like bruises. For a second, she wonders if she should reapply her make-up, then scoffs at the thought. She doesn’t need to “enhance” her looks; she looks _fine_ how she is. 

(It’s concerning, though, how quickly that thought appears in her mind. She normally doesn’t care how she looks, only putting the bare minimum of make-up on her face when she has work to get more tips; it’s a waste of her time to do it when she doesn’t need to wear any.

But knowing that doesn’t squash the urge completely.) 

She gets mostly changed in her room that morning, pulling on what she thinks is a clean pair of clothes and making a mental note to take her laundry to the laundromat this weekend. It’s all too easy to hack into the police’s database once she’s logged into her laptop, sliding through the firewalls. What a sight she must make, standing topless at her kitchen counter with her shirt in her hand, having gotten distracted with the potential of splicing. Once she’s made it into Cassian files (though it’s difficult not to take an exploratory trip into what the department has on her), she looks only at his address, scribbling it down on a piece of paper before wiping her desktop clean and powering down the computer. 

Now that that’s done, she puts on her shirt and heavier coat, typing the address into her phone GPS then sliding on a threadbare pair of gloves. She’s bustling out of her apartment once again, shoving her wet hair into a woolen cap to ensure it doesn’t freeze in the winter weather. 

Bus tickets are expensive, and Jyn doesn’t want to shell out the money necessary for a ride even in the bitter cold and the already forming ache in her legs. She tells herself it’s good exercise as she heads into the direction of the nearest drugstore, never mind the fact that she’d already worked out a few hours ago.

Saw would be proud of how she’s pushing herself in little ways like this, she thinks with a grin before she remembers the situation she’s in, sobering almost as soon as she does. If her former godfather is even alive, he would be disgusted at the situation she’s in – working with the police, betraying members of her old gang. It hurts to imagine, the slimy tendrils of resentment clawing their way up her throat, filling her mind with old anxieties until she nearly runs into the glass door of the brightly illuminated bodega. 

Once she’s entered the store, she’s no longer as sure as her plan as she’d been on the walk over. Would getting Cassian painkillers be too presumptuous? He has his own first-aid kit, that she knows, but does it have what he needs inside? She stands near the pharmacy for far too long, hands propped on her hips and fluorescent lights burning her retinas as she stares at the rows and rows of brightly colored plastic pills. 

In the end, she grabs a bottle of Advil and hopes that it doesn’t come off as arrogant, of her thinking she knows what’s best for him. All she really wants is to help; imagining him in his bed, unable to move because of the pain, makes her feel sick to her stomach. 

She puts a few food items into her basket as well, some sugary candies and a box of cookies. Everyone likes sugar, she rationalizes, and if Cassian doesn’t eat any of it, she sure as hell will. 

Ten minutes after she’d entered the store, she’s on her way again, wrapping the handles of the plastic grocery bag around her wrist so she can shove her hands into her pockets. Luckily, this stop is on the way to Cassian’s apartment, so she heads in the same direction, bundling deep down into her layers. Her scarf is pulled up over her nose and ears, leaving only her eyes exposed; tears pool in the corner, the wind threatening to tug the moisture out and onto her face. 

Her phone vibrates every so often, giving her directions on where to turn, which streets to cross. She doesn’t know how long it takes her to walk to Cassian’s apartment – she’s long past counting the amount of blocks she’d traversed – but once she gets there, she can barely feel the tip of her nose and ears, and her fingers are tingling. 

It’s easy enough to find which apartment is his; she presses the button next to where his name is hastily scrawled. It takes a few seconds for him to respond to her call. When she hears his voice, it makes her knees unexplainably weak; she’d known he was alive, that back pain wouldn’t kill him, but the mind is an irrational thing and it’s comforting to have some confirmation of what she’d inherently known to be true. 

_“Hello?”_

“Hey, it’s Jyn,” she says into the microphone. There’s a few seconds of silence, so she adds, a bit aggressively, “I brought snacks. Let me up.” 

_“Jyn?”_ The confusion is horribly evident in his voice; she’s clearly caught him off-guard. Her stomach flips, nervousness making her nauseous. Maybe this hadn’t been such a brilliant idea. _“What – what are you doing here?”_

“I have an idea,” she fumbles, her words clumsy in her mouth, “to help us figure out our problem. Just thought I would - you know. Come over and we can talk about it.” 

_“You couldn’t have just texted me about this?”_

“I wanted to see you,” she says lamely, not able to look at the button she’s pressing, eyes up at the ceiling, down to the floor. He can’t see her, but her embarrassment rises hot on her cheeks. “Would you just let me up?”

Silence. It goes on for so long that she considers just walking out and leaving, snacks and all, but then the door buzzes open. She takes the opportunity as soon as it presents itself, slipping into the complex like a ghost, determined to just – at the very least – shove what she’d gotten him into his arms and flee. 

The fight or flight instinct wars strongly in her core, the pull nearly tugging her back outside the building, but she marches on, stomping up the steps harshly as if they’d personally offended her and eyes blazing. She’s trying to do good; she won’t let him turn her away, not after the phone call last night. 

He wants her to forget? Fine. She’ll forget in about two minutes, once she gets a good look at him before he kicks her out of his flat. 

She raps her knuckles against his door, fully prepared to stand and wait. Her shock is obvious when he opens the door almost immediately, eyebrows pushing the rest of his face into a frown. 

“Hey,” she greets, holding up her bag of loot. “Told you I brought shit.” 

There’s barely masked pain in his eyes, stiffness in the way he’s standing, the white-knuckled grip against the doorway. “Jyn, I’m not going to be the best company today.” 

“That’s fine. You can sit on the couch or something, I don’t care,” she ducks underneath his arm and enters his flat, only pausing when she realizes she probably should have asked first. “Shit, I should have – ” 

“You’re fine,” he sighs, closing the door behind her and making his way slowly – with a limp, a slight hunch in his back – to his living room, the area neater and more organized that she can even dream of hers being. “Just – not for very long, okay?” 

“It’ll be quick,” she promises. “Can I use the bathroom first, though?” 

“Yeah, it’s just down the hall.” He rubs at forehead, the spot between his eyes. His laptop sits open on his coffee table in front of him, but the screen is completely black, long since active. She wonders how long he’s been sitting there, trying and failing to muster up the effort to do his work. 

There’s no chance in hell that he would listen to her if she told him to take a break, she muses as she heads toward the toilet, plastic bag still in hand. Maybe she could – cut the power to his apartment or something. Make it impossible for him to do anything except rest for a few damn hours. 

(She wouldn’t get caught, that’s for sure. Snipping a few wires in an electrical box is hardly a criminal offense, especially when it’s for a good cause. It isn’t even something she would consider _illegal._ ) 

Just as she’d suspected, there’s a medicine cabinet on the wall. She pulls out the bottle of pills she’d bought and slips it besides the other ones, trying not to snoop but noting all the same the refilled prescription, shoulders hunching in relief at the sight. Kay had come through, then; she hadn’t doubted him, knowing the friendship between the two men runs strongly, but there’s always the chance that Cassian’s call wouldn’t have woken him up, that Kay would have slept right through it – leaving Cassian alone with his pain. 

She flushes the toilet and runs the tap, splashing water on her hand despite not doing anything. Outside of the bathroom, Cassian is still sitting in the same position she’d left him in. Slightly unsure, she pauses before perching on the edge of an armchair adjacent to the couch. 

“So,” he says, leaning back slowly until his back is braced fully against the cushions. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but you said you had something?” 

Right. Part two of her plan – the part that’s barely formed, much less so than the first one. He’ll see right through it before she even opens her mouth; though the purpose of her visit has been completed, she doesn’t want to leave until she’s confident he has what he needs to get through the day. 

“It’s more of an idea, really.” Isn’t everything they do these days? Hell, the majority of their operation is built on ‘what-ifs.’ “I just wanted to get your thoughts on it before I did anything.” 

He spreads his hands in a show that he’s listening. “Well?” 

“Here,” she shoves the bag into his hands, deflecting by swerving completely into left field, “I got these for you.” 

“Jyn,” he sighs, frustration etched in his features. He doesn’t take her offer, leaving her arms hanging in mid-air. Awkwardly, she lowers the snacks. “Why are you actually here?” 

When she opens her mouth to give him another bullshit line (they both know that’s all it is), he cuts her off, “Is all this because I accidentally called you last night?” 

“No,” she lies, keeping her face completely clear. “I meant what I said when I had an idea. It’s just that I could have. You know.” She shrugs, looking apologetic despite her attempts not to. “I _maybe_ could have texted it to you.” 

“I meant what I said,” he tells her, not unkindly. “It’s not a big deal. You didn’t have to walk all this way to make sure that I was fine. I could have told you that – in fact, I remember that I did.” 

She doesn’t bring up the fact that he’d also said he couldn’t get out of bed, or how his voice had shook with pain. She doesn’t bring up that even now, he’s lying to her face – he’s _not_ fine. Instead, she raises her chin and refuses to be cowed for caring. “I won’t say a word about it if you don’t want me to. I just wanted to see for myself.” 

“It’s not a secret,” he says. “It’s why I’m desk duty, why I’m your handler. It’s an old injury, Jyn. Something I’ve dealt with for a long time.” 

_But you shouldn’t have to bear it alone!_ She wants to scream at him. He’s done so much for her already, going along with her idiotic ideas, trying to keep her out of jail despite her not being the easiest to deal with. Sure, it’s his _job_ to do so, but any old detective ‘doing their job’ wouldn’t have gone to the lengths that he has. If he would just let her in, _let her do this one, small thing for him –_

He owes her nothing, but fuck, does she owe him so, so much. 

Abruptly, she stands. “This was a mistake,” she mutters. “Obviously, you’re fine. You said you were fine, so I’m just going to. I’m going to go. Sorry to bother you.” 

When she moves, Cassian does as well – though his movements are considerably less graceful. There’s nothing in his posture that shows his pain – he’s better trained than that – but he’s a little slower, a little more careful. _“Don’t_ – _fuck._ Listen. I appreciate you coming here, really. But there’s nothing to worry about.”

They could argue about this all day, going back and forth like bickering children. She almost _wants_ to – this kind of banter is what she does best – but there’s no point. This isn’t a matter about her pride anymore. Instead, she says with a quirk of her brow, “If I sit back down, will you?” 

He groans. “You’re worse than Kay.” 

“It would be rude if you didn’t,” she replies, folding her legs underneath her and sitting. “It’s the markings of a bad host if you just stand over me. All tall and _looming_.” 

“You make quite the compelling argument,” he says, sitting with a heavy grunt. “And it’s not my fault that you’re so short.” 

_“Anyway,”_ she says, making a point to glare at his stupid, pretty face as he tries not to grin at her. “I did come here for a reason – ” 

“Besides the snacks?” 

“I’m going to ask the Rebellion for help,” she says, flat out. “Bodhi’s intel is good, but it’s not what we need. I think they’ll be able to give us more.” 

He frowns, shaking his head. It’s not a dismissal of her idea, but it’s damn well close to it. “I don’t think bringing more people in on this is a good idea.” 

“We don’t have to give away any details,” she argues. “After I bailed Leia Organa out of jail, she – ” 

“After you _what?_ ” 

“That’s classified,” she replies snarkily, shooting him another _look_. “After I bailed her out, she asked me if I would join up. I’ll tell her I had a change of heart and see what they know. They’re an activist group – I can leave that shit any time that I want.” 

He doesn’t look convinced, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he asks, “Is this because you don’t want to talk to your father?” 

Maybe. Maybe it is. It’s a wonder how easily he’s able to read her. Is she going to admit that to him, let him win this battle? Hell no. 

“Didn’t you say we needed all the help we could get?” she tries, purposely deflecting his question. “It can’t hurt to ask. Leia owes me one.” 

“If you’re sure,” he says cautiously. “This whole plan – it’s yours, Jyn. You don’t need to ask me for approval. If you think that this is what we should do, then we’ll do it.” 

That doesn’t sit right with her. He’s been with her the whole way, trusted her when no one else would. When she’d told him she didn’t want to arrest Partisans and thought she should do this instead, he agreed to help her instead of pulling his rank and ordering her to do that or he’d send her back to jail. This endeavor – it’s because of both of them.

“We’ve in this together,” she tells him firmly, meeting his gaze. “I know you don’t have much stake in this – not as much as I do – but this is as much of your plan as it is mine. Don’t sell your contributions short, Captain. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you, and I won’t be able to finish it alone.” 

There’s a beat of silence, weighted and tension-filled. She’s just dumped a shit-load of responsibility on his shoulders without asking if he even wants to do this with her. He’s her handler, not her partner in crime, not her co-worker. Just because he hasn’t shut her down completely yet doesn’t mean he never will – 

“All right,” he says with a hesitant smile, the corner of his mouth curling up slightly. Jyn finds herself mirroring his expression, a grin tugging at her face, too. “All right. I’m with you, Jyn. All the way.” 

* * *

A simple text comes later that night; it’s only two words but the message is clear nonetheless.

 **Cassian Andor [7:47 p.m.]:** Thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the anon who prompted a sick!cassian in the firebrand verse – the reason i didn't write your prompt was because i had this queued up for this week! it's pretty close to what i was thinking about writing up anyway :-)
> 
> as always, i hope you all enjoy!


	9. Chapter 9

Though Jyn had assured him that they’re equal in this plan, that he has just as much say as she does, it’s hard to sway her opinion once she’s set on how she wants to do it. Meeting with the Rebellion isn’t a _bad_ idea, as they have access to information that the police department doesn’t, but he knows from experience that the more people they bring in, the harder it’s going to be to cover up if something goes wrong. 

(Hopefully they _all_ won’t end up in prison for this.)

Back when Bail Organa had been in charge of the Alliance – long before Cassian had joined the police academy and his accident – he’d attended a few meetings. It was different back then – more peaceful, more of a citizens’ attempt to bring awareness to what the Empire is doing. Despite the organization being more successful with their protests and riots, he finds his only interaction with the organization is when an officer is called to arrest someone for trespassing or setting a car on fire or throwing a brick through a window. 

He hasn’t directly been introduced to Leia Organa or Luke Skywalker, but he knows _of_ them, and suspects that the knowledge goes both way. He doesn’t want to be the reason why this agreement goes sour, especially if they don’t want to work with him because him and his colleagues have arrested some of their members. It’s not likely, but he doesn’t want to risk it; their help will be necessary to keeping Jyn out of jail. It’s why he arrives a little later than to her apartment than what Jyn had told him; if that makes him a coward, so be it.

When he gets to her place, however, only Bodhi and Jyn are inside. Her face is a picture of relief when she sees him, eyeing the cake he’s bought from the corner store on the way over. 

“Thank God you’re here,” she exclaims. “I was starting to think that no one was going to come.” 

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, feeling a pang of guilt for delaying his arrival. Holding up the bag, he adds, “I thought I would bring something over.” 

“See, Jyn?” Bodhi says earnestly as she comes over and takes it from him. “I – I told you that he would come.” 

A blush turns her cheeks pink, and she smartly opens up the container and shoves a piece of cake into her mouth so she doesn’t have to answer. She glares at her brother, cheeks puffed out with all the food in it, red with indignation. The sight is comical, making him smile just the faintest bit, amusement wrinkling the corners of his eyes. 

Once she swallows and opens her mouth to retort, a knock on the door interrupts her. “That’ll be the rest of them,” she says, and goes to let them in. 

Alongside Luke and Leia, who he recognizes immediately despite not seeing them in person for months, there’s a tall, scowling man lingering in the hallway. For a second, he assumes that it’s one of Jyn’s neighbors and that she’s going to shut the door in his face, only to be surprised when she steps aside with a roll of her eyes. 

“Of _course_ you came with,” she says with mock-annoyance, a hint of a smile tugging up her lips in contrast with her words. “I should have expected it.” 

“Yeah, well, I brought beer,” he says, holding up a six-pack and strolling in like he owns the place. “So – you’re welcome.” 

“I didn’t thank you!” she retorts back, shutting the door behind him once they’re all inside. “You don’t have my gratitude, Solo!” 

He’s so absorbed in Jyn and Solo’s conversation, wondering about the complexities of that relationship and just how they know each other, that he doesn’t even notice Leia when she approaches him until she speaks.

“Ignore them,” she says fondly. “They’re always like that. It’s good to see you again, Cassian.” 

The warm greeting catches him off-guard. “It’s nice to see you, too,” he manages, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets in an attempt to hide his awkwardness. “How’s your father? Still working in the Senate?” 

“I don’t think he could even give it up,” she remarks. “I’d imagine he’ll be doing it until he dies. He’s doing well, though. Not as idealistic as he used to be, but I suppose that comes with age.” 

“Good,” he says genuinely. “That’s good to hear, Leia.” 

“Come on, you lot!” Jyn shouts from the kitchen, startling the two from their conversation in front of the door. “We’ve got a heist to plan! Crime to do!” 

Both of them groan. “She’s going to get us all arrested,” he mutters good-naturedly, combing back his hair with his fingers.

“Well, she’s got you to keep her on the right side of the law,” Leia replies, nudging him gently with her shoulder. “Come on. We better get over there before her and Han set the place on fire.” 

* * *

“We’re gathered here today to – “ 

“If that sentence ends with somethin’ about ‘holy matrimony,’ I’m leaving,” Han grunts, making no move to get out of the chair he’s currently slumped in, legs thrown haphazardly over the arm. He’s cradling a beer to his chest like a baby, looking entirely out of place; when Jyn had invited Leia and her brother Luke to her apartment, she hadn’t expected her to drag her boyfriend along with her – like Jyn had noticed before, he’s completely whipped. It’s clear that he already would do anything for her with minimal whining and arguing. 

(Again, she’s hit with that pang of sadness, a wish that she could have what she already sees developing between Han and Leia. It’s not jealousy that’s sitting like a rock in the bottom of her stomach, it’s more like – _longing._

But when she glances in Cassian’s direction, it dissipates, being replaced with something warmer.) 

Leia glares at him from where she’s standing, making an intimidating picture despite not being taller than five feet. Hell, even Jyn nearly takes a step back. When Han quiets, she continues, “Like I was saying – all of us are here today to talk about taking down a common enemy.” 

“You can say it, you know,” Jyn remarks from where she’s sitting, ankles curled underneath her stool. “The _Empire_. They’re not a bunch of bogeymen.” 

“They have – have eyes and ears everywhere,” Bodhi pipes in. “I always feel like they’re listening. Or watching. I don’t like to say it either. You know, just in case.” 

“You don’t have to worry about that here,” she shrugs. “I routinely check for bugs. And if anyone’s watching,” she holds up her middle finger and spins on her stool, flashing it all around the room, “there.” 

“Thank you, Jyn,” Cassian remarks dryly. 

“Still, it doesn’t hurt to be careful,” Leia says back. “The Rebellion is a public organization, but we haven’t done anything more than protest what they’re doing. If they somehow catch wind of what we’re planning on doing here, then we’re all in danger.” 

“Who gives a fuck?” 

“Thank you, Han.” 

Jyn groans and almost slams her forehead down on her counter. Everyone had piled into her small apartment about ten minutes ago, but the conversation hasn’t progressed much farther than this. With her shitty luck, one of her neighbors will probably report a noise complaint to her landlord and she’ll end up paying some exorbitant fine – and _that bill_ will be going straight to the Alliance’s headquarters. 

“Can we get back to the business?” she cuts through the chatter. “Let’s focus on dumping Krennic’s geriatric ass in prison, yeah?” 

“Here’s the thing, Jyn,” Leia starts, laying her hands flat over the table. “That’s easier said than done. There’s a reason no one’s been able to incriminate anyone in the Empire; they’re really good at covering their tracks. Even if you manage to get inside their headquarters undetected, there won’t be evidence just laying out on the table.” 

“I know that,” she responds irritatedly. “I’m good with computers – I’ll hack into their database and get what I need. You guys get me and Cassian inside, and we’ll do the rest.” 

A beat of silence. Luke and Leia glance at each other, much to Jyn’s displeasure, before he says placatingly, “It’s a good idea! It is. Just. . .I’m not sure how that’s going to work. We don’t have an accurate layout of the building, or where Krennic’s office is, or where these files might even be. . .” 

“That’s where Bodhi comes in,” Cassian interrupts smoothly. “He’s already given us what he remembers about the floor plans. We have a good idea of where Krennic’s office may be. How long ago did you say you quit, Bodhi?” 

“Um, about year ago? Year and a half?” he fiddles with the ends of his ponytail, then looks up, more confident. “Yeah, yeah. Year and a half.” 

“While his office could have moved during that time, it’s a starting place,” Cassian continues. “If your people could perhaps get us some more updated intel. . .” 

Leia chews her bottom lip pensively. “Maybe. I’ll ask around and see, but I don’t know if we’ll be able to dig anything up.” 

It’s difficult to resist the urge to ask Leia what the Rebellion _can_ do. So far, all they’ve gotten is pithy statements and shrugs, glancing at each other when something requested is “impossible” or “unlikely.” This is the organization who is the most publicly against the Empire, and this is all they can offer up? She’s starting to think that maybe she had been wrong to bring them in on this, especially if there’s nothing they can do to help. That favor Leia owes her could have been used in another way. 

As the conversations continue, there’s a sinking feeling in her gut that’s beginning to form, heavy and thick as it settles. She knows what she’s going to have to do if she wants that updated information. There’s only one person close enough to Krennic would be privy to it. 

_Fuck._

“What we don’t know is how we’re going to inside the building,” she says, pushing forth a new topic and ignoring the nausea rising up in her throat. _Breathe. Focus._ “How much do you know about their office in Scarif?” 

Luke and Leia share another look; Jyn finally snaps. “Would you stop doing that and fucking share with the rest of the class?” 

Cassian reaches out a warning hand, placing it over Jyn’s clenched fist. She doesn’t pull away, instead letting the warmth of his skin melt through her bones. Though it’s a calming sensation, she can sense the irritation coming in waves off of his demeanor as well. 

“It’s well-guarded, lots of security,” Luke explains with a frown. “Not to mention in the middle of nowhere. We’ve been focusing more on the one here in Coruscant. . .” 

He looks to Leia. She continues. “What my brother is too kind to say is that if you want to go into Scarif, you’re going to be flying almost completely blind. If you would be willing to shift your attention to people like Vader – ” 

Cassian glances at Jyn, nodding slowly like he’s amenable to that idea and opening his mouth to respond, but she beats him to the punch. “No. We’re going after Krennic.” 

Frowning, he interjects, “Maybe we should listen to them, Jyn. You have to think about yourself here. I know you want to take down Krennic, but it might not be possible. We need to consider other options. Failure really isn’t an option here.” 

It shouldn’t be surprising, but she doesn't expect Bodhi to come to her rescue. “No one’s going to focus on him if we don’t,” he says. When he meets Jyn’s eyes, there’s a determined set to his eyes. He wants him in jail as much as she does. “And he – he deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life.” 

She couldn’t have said it better herself. 

“All right,” Jyn drawls, tugging her focus back. “So now that _that’s_ settled. . .” 

“You’re going to have to sneak in,” Leia tells them, not looking happy that they’re going along with their original plan. “Your best option is probably going to be impersonating people who work there. I’ll see what I can do about getting you proper identification.” 

“If you can make it look nice, I can grab that information from the database,” Jyn shrugs. “I’ll pick a few people who look like us and figure out when they aren’t working. A few clicks and we’re in. Shouldn’t be too difficult.” 

Leia nods. “We can do that. Finding clothes will be easy. I assume both of you already have clothes appropriate for the workplace?” 

Cassian nods without hesitation, Jyn a little slower. Looks like her weekend plans now include going to the thrift store.

Leia drums her nails against the countertop thoughtfully, lips pursed as she mulls something over. “Though – it might look less suspicious if the both of you were from different departments,” she muses. “You’d have to go separate ways when you entered the building, but one unfamiliar face is a lot less obvious than two together.” 

There’s that, and then another issue. Jyn raises a finger, butting in. “There’s a chance Krennic might recognize my face if we see him.” 

Cassian turns to her, a note of betrayal in his voice. Trust goes both ways – except when she doesn’t want to tell him details about her past, apparently. She swallows down the lump in her throat at the sound of it. “You know him?” 

She makes a point not to look at him, clenching and unclenching her jaw. “How I know him isn’t important – ” 

“It’s pretty damn important, if you ask me – ” 

“Well, I _didn’t_ ask you, so – ” 

“All right, all right, I’ve heard enough of this lover’s quarrel,” Han interrupts from where he’s lounging, pulling himself away from the chair as if it pains him to leave it. His beer is empty, the bottle on the floor next to him – he _will_ be cleaning that up before he leaves – and he approaches the group with open hands. “I can’t fix whatever’s going on between you two – and believe me, I don’t fucking _want_ to – but I can help with some other shit. Surprising, I know. I’ll give you all a second to let that sink in.” 

* * *

Even with Han’s dramatics, Cassian’s attention is on Jyn. It isn’t an issue that she knows Krennic and he knows her, but it’s the fact that she’d chosen to drop this bomb right _now._ They’ve been working on this plan together for almost two weeks now and she’s conveniently hidden this fact from him; aren’t they supposed to be partners?

Knowing this changes everything. They’re doing this to keep Jyn out of prison and she has a place on the team that infiltrates the Scarif office, the risk of Krennic seeing her might endanger all of them. He knows better than to try and keep her away from it, but more precautions will have to be taken beforehand. 

Shaking that line of thoughts out of his mind, he struggles to focus on the current conversation, not wanting his hurt to override what could be important details. Though, when his eyes slide over to Han, who’s currently speaking, he’s not quite sure if the scoundrel has anything useful to offer. 

“Okay, time’s up,” Solo says. “Hope you’ve all absorbed that. Now – ” 

Jyn scowls. While Cassian’s able to mask his irritation quite well due to years of training, it’s harder for her to let it go. Clearly, she’s just about as happy with him right now as he is with her. “It’s been longer than a second.” 

“Well, nobody’s perfect. Not even you, Erso. Now,” he spreads his hands over the table with a mock-seriousness that grates on Cassian’s nerves, “there’s a good chance I’ll be able to get you an ‘official Imperial custodial uniform.’” He makes air quotes around the words, rolling his eyes. “Lando was telling me about one of his friends who had this weird sex role play thing – ” 

As soon as that phrase leaves his mouth, the whole room goes into an uproar. Bodhi blanches, pressing his hands into his eyes as if to block out the image likely burned into his retinas. Luke groans, tilting his head back and looking up at the ceiling while Leia glares at her boyfriend, looking disgusted. Cassian’s sure his mouth has been open long enough for flies to gather, and he closes it with an audible click.

Fucking hell, _this_ is the kind of person they’ve recruited for help?

Jyn, however, is the only one to clearly voice her displeasure, the words ringing over the disgruntled groans of everyone else in the room. _“Really?_ You want me to _wear one of Lando’s sex costumes?”_

“Lando’s _friend’s_ sex costume. It’s not _that_ bad, Erso. Listen, if it really bothers you, I’ll get it dry cleaned before I give it to you, huh?” 

“Wait,” Cassian interrupts, trying to regain some of his footing. “Lando? As in Lando Calrissian?” 

“Yeah,” Solo says gruffly, turning to him for the first time. “That a problem, Captain?” 

It’s as if that one name makes all the confusion in his mind snap together like the matching pieces of a puzzle. The connection between Calrissian, Jyn, and Solo is that they’re all _criminals_ (or former ones, in Jyn’s case; he’s not so sure about Solo). That’s how Solo and Jyn know each other, why they she hadn’t turned him away when he’d come in with Luke and Leia. His jaw clenches hard enough to make his bones creak. It’s yet another thing she’s chosen not to tell him. 

Not knowing this about her doesn’t bother him as much. Why would he care that she knows Leia’s boyfriend? Until the connection with Calrissian had been brought up and the realization that they would be dealing with her old criminal associates, he hadn’t cared. Now, it just makes him worry. The last thing he wants is for her to be dragged back down into the life she’s only just made it out of; if getting involved with Calrissian and Solo is the catalyst for that, then it’s not going to happen. If necessary, they’ll find another way to get what they need to make this work. 

(Is it bad that he hopes this doesn’t work out? He’ll work with Solo if he needs to – he’ll do it for Jyn – but the other man is really starting to piss him off.)

“I was there when they brought him in a couple weeks ago for illegal drug use and sale,” he responds mildly, because that’s all he has to say on the matter. 

Han shrugs. “The charges didn’t stick, did they?” 

In fact, out of everyone in the room, he suspects Jyn’s the only one who’s actually spent time in prison. He hadn’t recognized Solo, meaning it’s unlikely that he’s ever been brought into the station – and if he has, it hadn’t been for very long. 

But to him, Jyn’s different. He doesn’t think of her as a criminal, despite probably being the most hardened one in the room. Even if he gets to know Solo and Calrissian (which he truly doubts, already annoyed with how Solo presents himself), he doubts he’ll think of them in the same way he does Jyn. 

She’s fiercely loyal, ambitious, knows what she wants and won’t stop until she gets it, infuriating at times but even that’s become _endearing_ – 

“You should maybe see if he can even get the uniform first, Han,” Luke says tentatively, avoiding the phrase “sex costume” like the plague. “You said you talked to him, what – like a couple weeks ago? Who knows if the person even still has it?” 

“I remember what it looks like, I think,” Bodhi pipes in. “It’s not too different from, from the one mechanics used to wear. We might be able to recreate it.” 

_Might_ being the keyword there. If this were an official investigation into the Empire sponsored by the department, then they wouldn’t have to worry about acquiring fake credentials and stitching together replicas of uniforms they can barely remember. Instead of a fully formed task force, they’re a ragtag group of rebels sitting inside Jyn’s barely furnished apartment, planning an illegal heist that’s probably going to get them all in trouble. 

What a picture they must be. 

“At the very least, we can get visuals on what we’ll need to put together,” Leia says with a decisive nod. “That won’t be hard. In the meantime, Han can contact his friend’s friend and see about the. . . _costume._ That’ll be a last resort, I assure you. We can even remake it with, ah, cleaner materials if he gets it.” 

“Don’t think him and Lando are actually friends,” Solo mutters offhandedly. “Pretty sure Lando just talks to him because of the ridiculous shit he’s into.” 

“Whatever you say, scoundrel.” 

“Hey, I’m not sayin’ _I_ talk to this friend of Lando’s – ” 

“Okay, okay, you two,” Luke says, interrupting but there’s a fond smile on his face while he does it. It’s clearly not the first time that he’s had to cut in between their banter; even based on the looks on their faces, Cassian can’t tell if, without interruption, they would have descended into an actual fight or started making out right there on the table. “It sounds like we have most of what we need here, right? Except for Krennic’s schedule, that is. I don’t know if we can help with that. I don’t think we can.” 

“That’ll be something you’ll have to get on your own, unfortunately,” Leia agrees with a nod. 

At his side, Jyn stiffens. 

“We can do that,” she says evenly. There’s nothing in her voice to betray her true feelings, but both Bodhi and Cassian know of her reluctance to contact her father. Though he knows Leia wouldn’t speak of getting the information so casually if she truly knew the cost to Jyn, it’s slowly becoming clear to him and everyone else that this is their only option if they want to take down Krennic.

Jyn knows it, too. Her eyes harden, shoulders tightening. Bodhi not so subtly scoots his chair closer to her, trying to be a calming presence if that’s what she needs from him. She makes no move to accept that comfort, but once gracious glance between the two siblings shows her appreciation of his action. 

“Right, then,” Leia pushes her stool back and stands. “If it’s all right with you, I’ve got to get going. I have meetings later this afternoon that need more preparation on my part.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Jyn gets up, leads them out of the apartment with goodbyes and fake smiles, promises to contact them if she finds any relevant or useful information and to reach out with any questions, not sounding bothered in the slightest. 

When she comes back into the kitchen, all of that dramatic posturing leaves her with one heavy breath. There’s still a bit of fire in her eyes, but it seems bleak, resigned, almost snuffed out. 

Bodhi gets up. “Jyn – ” 

She holds up a hand. “Are you still in contact with Galen?” 

He’d known it would have to come to this, but the way she says it, how defeated she looks – his stomach churns. He swallows down a lump in his throat, knowing that isn’t his battle to fight; there is nothing he can do to protect Jyn from this pain, not when he knows is necessary. 

But still – _fuck._ He wishes it could be different. 

“Uh, yeah, I have his email and his phone number, but – Jyn, are you sure about this? I can be the one to, to contact him if we decide that’s what we need to do. . .” 

“It’s what we need to do,” she insists firmly. “And I need to be the one who does it.” 

He doesn’t look convinced, but reaches for a piece of paper all the same, writing down Galen’s cell once he finds a pen. “All right – if, if you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure.” 

Bodhi leaves soon after, giving a shaky excuse that neither he nor Jyn make a comment on. The atmosphere in the room isn’t a comfortable one, but he doesn’t want to leave Jyn alone right now. They have a few things to talk over, and he has a feeling that she could use someone in her corner right now. 

Across the table, she stares at the pink post-it note as if it’s going to jump off the table and attack her. A sigh, and then, “I really fucking wish I could have a drink right now.” 

That’s not a possibility he can offer her. Instead, he pushes the plate of half-demolished angel food cake over to her with a tentative smile. “Try this.” 

With a self-deprecating laugh, she picks at it, making a mess of crumbs and what’s left of the pastry all over the table. Her eyes don’t stay focused on it for long, though, sliding over to the number every time her mind seemingly starts to wander. 

“I suppose I should give him a call,” she murmurs. 

“You don’t have to do anything right now,” he replies, then adds cautiously, “You probably shouldn’t do anything. Not when you’re upset.” 

“I have to do it eventually,” she shrugs. “Might as well just get it over with.” 

In response, he leans across the table and plucks the post-it from where it’s stuck, sliding it into his pocket. “If you really want it back, you can have it. But I don’t think you should do this now. Trust me on this one, Jyn. We’re partners, right?” 

She nods slowly, finally looking at him. “Yeah. We’re partners.” 

Time to bring up what’s bothering him. He doesn’t want to upset her by forcing her to talk about her past (especially not when she’s clearly still carrying the weight of those traumas), but it’s information that he needs to know to make this run as smoothly as possible. “And before you make a call, I think we need to talk about Krennic.” 

“I owe you that, don’t I?” 

“Yeah, you do.” 

A pause. 

“Only Bodhi knows what I’m about to tell you,” she says. “And even then, he doesn’t know all of it.” 

“You don’t have to tell me all of it,” he responds, completely understanding where she’s coming from. There are things from his childhood that he hasn’t spoken of with anyone, not able to lay his soul bare like that. What she’s doing now, though necessary, is incredibly brave. “Just what’s relevant.” 

“Right then,” she says, leaning back in her chair and looking him dead in the eyes. “I suppose I should start with the day Krennic killed my mother, yeah?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading!
> 
> next chapter - two conversations – both emotional – and news that'll change the course of the investigation 🤔


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little nervous about posting this one, but instead of fiddling with it anymore i thought i would just throw it out in the world

Cassian chokes on his spit. 

Jyn sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. There’s a faraway, glassy look in her eyes, the one that comes with remembering details of the past. Rubbing at her forehead, she mutters, “This is why I don’t say anything.” 

Though he hasn’t verbally responded to what she’s just told him, his reaction is enough of a statement for her. He’s quick to correct that. “No! No, you just. . .surprised me, that’s all. I didn’t think that it was that. . .” 

When he trails off helplessly, she fills in the blanks. “Fucking awful?” 

He nods, unable to do anything else, left speechless by the horrors she must have seen at such a young age. It reminds him of his own childhood, of losing his parents at such a young age. . .but at least he hadn’t actually seen them get shot in front of his eyes. Despite not having seen their deaths, it _still_ haunts his nightmares all these years later; he can only imagine how bad it must be for Jyn. 

(He wants to hold her, to wrap her up in his embrace and never let her go.)

“Yeah, well.” She shrugs, making a point to not look at him. Her eyebrows pull down into a scowl, hair hiding her now angry facial features. Not at him, he doesn’t think, but at what’s happened in her life. “Most people think I’m just pissed at him because he’s Imperial, which – _obviously._ But it’s personal, too. He _killed_ my fucking mother, Cassian! Right in front of me, I was eight, _who_ does that?” 

When she looks up at him, he’s horrified to see tears in her eyes, chin wavering to keep them from falling. Without thinking, Cassian stands and slides into the chair next to her, wanting to throw an arm over her shoulders but not knowing if that would be okay. “Can I. . .do you need me to. . .?” 

“No, I’m fine,” she says, shaking her head. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, then stares down at it angrily, like it’s the thing that’s making her feel this way. “I’m fine.” 

To fill the silence, he offers up a piece of himself in return. It’s difficult to dislodge the words from his throat, but if it brings her a modicum of comfort, then he’ll manage. “When I was six, my parents were killed. It was a gang shooting – they weren’t involved, but they – they got caught up in the crossfire. I was at home with my sister, I didn’t know until hours later. It’s not the same as what you went through, but I understand.” 

His parents had been innocent, but they’d been shot anyway. It’s what had driven him to join the police academy, what still drives him today to make sure what happened to his family doesn’t happen to anyone else’s. Though she’s taken a different approach to life, he suspects Jyn feels the same, that her motives mirror his even when their plans of action have been on opposite sides of the spectrum. 

(Who would have thought that a criminal and a police officer could have so much in common? Before he’d met her, he wouldn’t have believed it possible.

Every day, though, she manages to surprise him.)

 _“Shit.”_ The laugh bubbles out of her before she can stop it, wet and slightly hysterical. “You really do get it. What a fucking pair we make.” 

“Two peas in a pod,” he says lightly, a hint of a smile despite the content of the conversation. “You don’t have to say anymore, Jyn. What you’ve said – it’s enough. It makes sense why you hate Krennic so much.” 

Despite never having met the man, Cassian hates him just for what he’s done to her. It’s enough to light a fire in his gut, to get him even more motivated to take him and the rest of the Empire down for good. 

“No, there’s more you should know.” She rakes her hand through her hair, pushing her loose bangs back into her bun. “I didn’t know this at the time, but we’d been running from him for my whole life. Galen used to – used to work with him willingly. And when he stopped, Krennic came after us to get him back because he’s – he’s fucking _brilliant._ No one else can do what he can. My mother and I – we were supposed to hide, but she ran after Galen when Krennic found us and. Well. Then she got shot and Krennic took my – _Galen._ He took Galen and would have taken me, too, but. . .” 

All the sudden, he’s battered with the image of an eight-year-old Jyn, hiding in the grasses of Lah’mu, tears streaming down her face as she watches her mother get shot down and her father get taken – and _still_ have the strength to run and hide. 

(He wouldn’t have her any other way, but he can’t help but wonder how different she might be now if that had never happened.)

She pauses for a little, takes a deep breath and tries to compose herself. Cassian’s relieved to see that she’s no longer crying, but her pain is clear. Unsure of what else to do to comfort her, he outstretches a hand over the table, palm up, an invitation if she wants to take it. When she tentatively places her own hand in his own, he simply curls his fingers around her palm and sits quietly, waiting for her to tell the rest of her story. 

“And I – all I did was hide. There was this bunker and I don’t know how long I stayed there, in the dark, but then Saw came. He was my mother’s friend and promised that he would take us in if the Empire found us. So I went with him, joined the Partisans.” 

He doesn’t push her to give more information than she’s comfortable giving, but he’s curious, wants to know more about her time with the Partisans and what happened after. All the department, all they have on file is that she left at age sixteen. Now that he knows Saw took her in and saved her from the Empire, he has to wonder why she’d parted ways with the gang after eight long years of being a part of it. 

“I don’t know if Galen will want to help us. I’d like to think that he will, but I haven’t seen him in twenty years. Maybe he’s with them now, I don’t know. And looking back,” she sucks in air through her teeth, looking incredibly anguished, “sometimes I wonder if I could have stopped it somehow If I hadn’t ran away, then maybe. . .” 

He’d told himself he would stay silent until she’s finished, but he can’t let her go along this line of thought. “You were eight, Jyn,” he says gently. “What could you have done? Your parents would have wanted you to be safe. You did what you should have.” 

“I _know,_ but sometimes – ” She’s frustrated now, hand curling harder around his, grip tight enough to make his joints creak. He doesn’t pull away. “Sometimes, I – what if I could have saved her?” 

“You couldn’t have,” he repeats, heart-breaking for her. “Jyn, you couldn’t have. You can’t think of the what-ifs, it won’t make the hurt go away.” 

That’s a truth he’s become increasingly familiar with these days. Late at night when he can’t sleep, he wonders if it would have been different if he’d been with his parents that night. If he’d convinced them to stay home and watch television with him instead. Gradually and painfully, he’s come to the conclusion that nothing he could have done would have changed the course of events. He’d been six – no match against two armed gangs going head-to-head. 

And then she breaks. 

“Why would she do that?” she whispers hoarsely. “Why would my mother leave me? I was eight, I needed her! Galen, he, he – _I_ needed her.” 

_“Was I not good enough?”_ goes unspoken. 

“Oh, Jyn,” he murmurs, pulling her to him without thinking of the consequences, relieved when she doesn’t flinch away and instead melts into his embrace. He shushes her quietly, rubs his hands up and down her back. Though there’s tears, it’s not so much of crying as it is heaving, her body shaking with tremors, unable to stop the convulsions. It makes it difficult to hold her properly, but he doesn’t care. When’s the last time she felt comfortable enough to cry? To let everything out instead of bottling it up? “I know. I know. You’re okay, you’re okay. I’m sorry this happened to you, _querida._ ” 

The affectionate, Spanish name spills out unconsciously. He freezes, unsure of how she might react to it, but Jyn doesn’t say anything. Her fingers curl into the back of his shirt, holding him tighter to her. Slowly, he lets out a breath, pulls her closer, tries to slow his racing heart. 

Once her crying stops and she’s quiet in his arms, he starts to untangle them. Before he does, however, he can’t resist placing a soft, undetectable kiss on the crown of her head, a wave of aggressive fondness blazing over his heart. 

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, scrubbing at her face and turning away from him. It’s not hard to discern why she’s hiding now, not after the astonishing display of vulnerability from her. “I can – I’ll wash your shirt for you.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” As touched as he is by her concern for him, he isn’t the one who needs worrying about. “Are _you_ okay?” 

Jyn chews her bottom lip, shrugs one shoulder. “I’m fine.” 

He levels her with a disbelieving look. After she’d just cried on his shoulder for nearly five minutes, she has the balls to lie and say that she’s fine? The wall between them is being built back up, brick by brick. Afraid to push her farther, he just sighs, running his fingers through his messy hair and making it clear that he doesn’t believe her. “If you say so.” 

(Next time, he’ll have to work harder, then, to get it to stay down longer until it’s no longer in place.) 

“I should. . .” she trails off, looking over his shoulder. “I should shower before I go to work.” 

It’s a not-so-subtle way to get him out of her apartment, but he takes the bait and rises out of his chair. Jyn does the same, but she’s considerably less steady than he is. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, right?” 

They both know that she won’t, are aware that she’s horribly stubborn and won’t lean on anyone unless she’s on her deathbed (and even then, he doubts it), but she agrees anyway. “Of course.” 

Even though there’s not much left to be said between them, he lingers in the door, not wanting to leave after her display of emotion. From experience, he knows she must be feeling raw and exposed right now; it would be too easy for her to close herself back up and harden herself to the outside world. That, he knows intimately, isn’t good for the healing process – one that he suspects she’s never actually gone through, that all of her pain has built up on itself over the years and she’s suffered silently all this time. 

Still, all he can manage is to repeat from their earlier conversation, “Don’t call your father today. Just wait until tomorrow, okay?” 

“I need to talk to him,” she argues half-heartedly. 

“I know,” he says. “And I wish that you didn’t, just – not today. Give yourself some time to think about what you’re going to say first.” 

She nods, but he can’t tell if he’s going to follow his advice. The last thing he wants is for her to say something she’ll regret over the phone, but he can’t stop her if she does; the conversation between them will happen privately, for their ears only. He won’t be there to mediate – she doesn’t _need_ him there to mediate. 

But he worries. Especially now, especially about her. 

“All right,” he murmurs finally. “I’ll see you around, Jyn.” 

“See you around, Cassian,” comes the quiet response. The door shuts behind her and he stands in her hallway longer than he intends to, staring at the apartment in front of him and wondering if he should raise his hand and knock. 

(He doesn’t.)

* * *

When he gets to the office the next morning, it’s a flurry of activity. Almost every telephone is ringing, other detectives running around the office, papers flying everywhere. He has a hard time making it to his desk without colliding with anyone, almost stumbling back when someone accidentally hits him in his bad side and it tenses painfully. 

_“Mierda!”_ He curses once he finally reaches his desk, staring at Kay incredulously. “What the hell is going on here?” 

Kay sets down his pen, blinking. “Didn’t you hear?” 

“Hear what?” His irritation grows at being kept in the dark even longer. “I haven’t heard anything.” 

“Saw Gerrera was found dead this morning.” 

Cassian drops his mug of coffee. It shatters against the floor, hot liquid splashing up against his pant leg, but he feels nothing. 

* * *

True to her word, Jyn waits until she wakes up in the morning to call Galen. Though she hadn’t really prepared what she’s going to say down to the letter, she feels more confident now that she’s mulled over her words. If all goes well, she won’t break down until _after_ she’s hung up on him. Not crying at all would be the best case scenario, but she can’t imagine that happening. Already, her nerves are shaky, nausea rising up in her gut, blood thrumming in her veins – and she hasn’t even picked up her phone yet. 

It sits on her table next to the post-it note that Bodhi had written for her, the ten numbers in a dark, foreboding script. From where she’s standing in the living room, she can just barely see it. Every time she wants to take a step forward, her body doesn’t listen to her mind, feeling as if her feet are rooted in concrete. 

How is she supposed to make the damn call if she can’t even get to her phone?

 _This is a ridiculous,_ she tells herself, trying to snap out of the daze she’s in. _Get a fucking grip and just go over there!_

Before she catches up with her line of thought, she marches over to the table and picks up her phone, fingers poking into the screen as she dials the number angrily. When her shaky hands raise her cell up to her ear, she finally realizes what she’s done. _Oh, shit –_

On the fourth ring, a voice answers. _“Hello? This is Galen Erso speaking.”_

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck –_

She yanks the phone away from her face and hangs up on the call, throwing her phone across the floor and breathing heavily. There’s no exchange of words – all that happened had been Galen answering the phone – but the sound of his voice is enough to send her into a near panic. 

_Breathe. Focus._

All of the sudden, her apartment is too quiet. There are sirens in the distance, blaring outside her window, but she can’t stand the silence permeating the air around her. Grabbing the remote, she flips her TV onto a random station, letting the news reporter’s voice fills the room with chatter. She doesn’t hear the words, only the sound of someone speaking; her focus is turned solely to the phone that she’s just thrown across the floor. 

Her mind floats somewhere outside of her body as she steps over to it, picks it up, and redials Galen’s number. 

* * *

“You understand this makes it difficult to decide what to do with Erso,” Draven says calmly, folding his hands over the top of his desk. 

Cassian, still reeling from the bomb Kay had dropped onto him only moments before, struggles to put his thoughts together clearly. All he wants to do is go find Jyn and make sure she’s okay, to tell her the news himself so she won’t have to hear it from someone she doesn’t know; instead, he’s trapped in this office talking about her as if he’s not already emotionally compromised. 

(This thing with Jyn – they’ve crossed that line. What he feels. . .maybe it’s more than he should.) 

“Sir, with all due respect, it was likely Jyn’s – it was likely Erso’s tip that led us to his hideout in the first place, so – ” 

He doesn’t know much of what happened. He’d only spent a minute or two talking to Kay before Draven had whisked him away into his office. In the early morning hours, a squadron had raided a seemingly abandoned Partisan base in Jedha, only to find Gerrera and a few trusted members inside. Apparently, Gerrera hadn’t tried to run, had said he would go peacefully if it meant everyone else could go free. After that, he’s not entirely sure what went down, if it had been an officer that had spooked or one of Gerrera’s men. Either way, when the dust of the fighting had died down, Gerrera was dead. 

“Andor.” The sharp, but not unkind, reprimand is enough to quiet him, the last of his protests dying on his lips as he stares helplessly at his superior. “Erso wasn’t the one who led us to him. The information she’s provided on the Partisans was helpful, but not detailed enough to take down Gerrera. Truthfully, I hadn’t expected that this team would have any luck when I sent them out. 

He can’t believe it, shaking his head as he asks, “What?” 

“I believe you heard me properly, detective. As far as I’m concerned, in this case specifically, Erso didn’t do anything to help us. That brings up the question at hand: what should I do with her now that we’ve got Gerrera? Not where I want him, admittedly, but he’s off the streets. The Partisans will scatter, be vulnerable without their leader. It will be easy to finish them off. Now that she’s no longer useful, what should we do with Jyn Erso?” 

A rhetorical question. Cassian keeps his mouth shut, waiting until whatever Draven has to say drops down on him. The coffee he’d spilled earlier is still drying on his pants and socks, a soggy mess on his lower half. It’s uncomfortable, but he bears it silently, face calm and stoic. 

Internally, however, he’s panicking. For the past few weeks, he’s promised Jyn over and over again that he would help her, that he would keep her out of prison. They had time, he’d told her, that so long as Gerrera was out there and Draven thought they were tracking him down, she would be safe until they took Krennic down. 

Now he’s not. Gerrera’s dead, so where does that leave her?

“I want your input on this, Andor,” he says finally. “You’re a good detective and have been working with her this entire time. It would be a pain in my ass to put her back in jail, but I’ll do what I think is necessary.” 

Draven’s not an unfair man, but Cassian knows he’ll do anything for justice. He’s not particularly warm or sympathetic; he won’t care about how Jyn is as a person (and would be pissed to learn how close the two of them have gotten). 

Though he’d promised not to tell, it’s something he has to do to keep her free. He only hopes that Jyn will be able to forgive him. “Jyn has known Orson Krennic since she was a child. Her father, Galen – he’s not in hiding like we’d believed, sir. She and her brother have given me a reason to think that he’s still with the Empire.” 

Interest sparks in Draven’s eye. He leans back in his chair, motioning for Cassian to go on. “You’ve got my attention, detective.” 

Cassian, sick to his stomach, continues. 

* * *

_"Hello? I see that you’re the same number calling me again. If this is some sort of prank call – ”_

“It’s – ” she swallows down the lump in her throat and tries again. “It’s Jyn.” 

There’s a pregnant pause, one long enough that she almost feels the need to clarify that it’s Jyn, his _daughter_ that he’d abandoned twenty years ago and presumably forgotten about before he speaks, _“Stardust?”_

 _“Don’t call me that!”_ she snaps before she could stop herself, only just remembering her plan to try and remain civil. “Don’t – just don’t.” 

_“I’m sorry, Star–Jyn.”_

“Don’t be sorry, just – ” she trails off, shaking her head, unable to say anymore. The words have dried up in her mouth. 

_“I was surprised to hear from you, that’s all. It’s been so long, I hadn’t expected it to actually be_ you _. . .”_

“Yeah, well, who’s fault is that?” Cassian had been wrong in advising her to wait to call her father; she doubts it would have gone any better than the disaster that’s happening now. _“Fuck._ Listen, I don’t want to fight, okay? I’m calling because, big fuckin’ surprise, I need your help with something.” 

_“Yes, yes – of course, anything. Anything. Tell me what you need help with.”_

“Are you still with the Empire?” 

_“I. . .”_ There’s silence on the other end and she waits, holding her breath. If he’s no longer with the company, then they won’t be able to more forward with their plan. He’s not on any social media and Google searches of his name come up with nothing – she suspects he’s still working with the Empire, but isn’t positive. For whatever reason, someone’s certainly done their best to make it seem he’s left entirely. _“Yes. I’m still working at the Eadu office. I’m not proud of it, but – ”_

“I don’t need to hear your excuses,” she fires back, letting out a relieved breath at the news all the same. “What I need is for you to give me information about my uncle who also works there. How he goes about the workday, shit like that. Ring any bells?” 

She’s careful to keep details out of her proposal, considering it likely that the Empire would have one of their worker’s phones tapped, especially one as high up as Galen is. He’ll understand the reference, since he’s the one who coined the term “Uncle Orson.” That man stopped being her uncle the day he’d ordered her mother shot in the chest. 

_“Ah, yes – it does. But, Jyn, I don’t think I like the sound of whatever you’re planning. Your uncle is a very dangerous man.”_ It’s not difficult to hear the thread of worry underlying his words, but she doesn’t care. 

“Are you willing to help or not?” 

Despite his earlier hesitations, he’s quick to answer now. _“Of course I’ll help, Jyn. You know I will.”_

“I don’t, actually, but thanks.” A headache is beginning to form in her temples even though the call is going better than planned; there’s no tears yet, anyway. “I’ll tell Bodhi to text you and set some sort of meeting up.” 

_“You’ve started talking to Bodhi again?”_

Great. As much as she loves her brother, she hates knowing that he’s talked about her with her father. It feels – wrong, somehow. Like an invasion into her privacy. It makes her stomach churn. 

“Yeah. Bye, Galen.” Time to end this before she comes to more horrifying revelations she doesn’t want to learn. 

_“Bye, Stardust. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but – ”_

Jyn hangs up before he can finish, breathing heavily and staring down at her phone. Her eyes are wet, but she swipes at them angrily, not letting the tears fall. She’s cried enough in the past twenty-four hours, no need to waste any more on Galen Erso, not when he doesn’t deserve it. 

While he’s tried to reach out to her over the years, the attempts have died out recently; prison had made sure that she wouldn’t hear from anyone in the six months she’d been stuck in there. Even before that, though, she’s taken measures to protect herself: changing her number, moving apartments, switching jobs.

It may seem excessive, and what she’d said to him may seem cruel, but after what he’d done to her? After nothing except a few phones calls every few months to “check up” on her? He’s never tried to be a father; _hell,_ Saw had been more of a father than Galen had, and look how well she’s turned out after eight years in his care! 

A bloody fucking criminal. 

Sighing, she looks for her charger before her cell dies so she can text Cassian the “good” news and tell Bodhi to wait for Galen’s text. It’s not even noon and she feels both physically and emotionally drained. A nap sounds awful nice right now. 

She turns her attention to the TV that she’d turned on about ten minutes ago, finally letting the screen come into focus and the reporter’s words filter into her brain. What catches her attention, however, isn’t the scene unfolding around the woman nor the account she’s detailing – it’s the words at the bottom, white on a red background, all in caps. 

SAW GERRERA SHOT IN JEDHA. 

Jyn drops her phone. It’s saved by the charger, clattering against the wall as it dangles uselessly, but the sound is enough to rattle her, for her knees to grow shaky, for a black hole to open up in her chest. 

No. _No._

As if watching her body act from a third person point of view, she snatches the remote off the table and throws it at the TV. A large splintering crack erupts in the middle, and the news station fizzles out and dies. The only sound now in her too empty apartment is her labored breathing, gasping and trying to fill her lungs but unable get enough air no matter how hard she tries. 

When she pinches her arm, she doesn’t wake up. Even when her nails draw blood, she’s stuck in this reality. Saw’s dead and she’s alive and _she’s not waking up from this nightmare._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and i oop–


	11. Chapter 11

_Inhale. Exhale. Thwack. Thwack._

The punching bag is not what took Saw away from her, but Jyn treats it as if it has, throwing every last bit of her strength behind the beating she’s currently inflicting. The bag swings on the chains hooking it to the ceiling, screeching when it moves back and forth; she’s making the most noise out of anyone in the gym, the sounds audible even over the blaring dance music, but looking as fevered as she does, she doubts anyone is going to approach her and ask if she can keep it down a little. 

Her hands are wrapped properly – she’s not stupid; even in this state she doesn’t want to risk injury – but she almost wishes that they aren’t. She’s hitting so hard that there’s already blood on her knuckles, the coppery, rust-like smell filling the air, but the sharp pain isn’t enough to block out the memories from earlier this morning. 

As her hearing had gone in and out, she’d been able to make out a few details before turning off the television entirely. Some sort of police sting and Saw had died in the crossfire. An accidental shooting – the police had wanted him alive for questioning. 

_God_ – he’s dead. She can’t wrap her mind around it. He’s always been larger-than-life to her, marching around the place like he was unkillable. Though he led a dangerous life, she’d never thought him to be in any actual _danger;_ in fact, up until now, she’d suspected that it would be the smoking that killed him, not a shoot-out. 

_Inhale. Exhale. Thwack._

And to think that the police had gotten him, not a rival gang. As she slams out her anger, she wonders if Cassian had anything to do with it, then shakes that out of her mind. He couldn’t have, not with his injury – she knows that logically. And even if he had been able to go along, he wouldn’t have had much time to; he’d spent most of the day with her yesterday and as far as she knows, he’s wholly focused on taking down the Empire with no time spared on any other project. 

No, this whole mess is her fault. Even though she hasn’t actively tried to take down Saw, every piece of information she’s given to the police has helped in his demise. Hell, she should have just pulled the trigger herself! It would have had the same effect. She’s killed him, it’s her fault he’s dead. 

The pain in her hands is _nothing_ compared to the pain in her heart, and this is the only way she knows how to properly let it out. 

_Inhale. Exhale. Thwack. Thwack. Thw–_

“Whoever’s face that is, they’re _definitely_ dead.” 

Jyn stumbles mid-strike, cursing herself for not noticing the woman come up behind her and stand a safe distance away. When she spins around, fists up as if anticipating a threat, another fight (oh, how she wishes she could spar against a moving target, but no one else in the gym matches her skill level), the woman raises her hands quickly, stepping back with a startled look on her face. 

“Woah, there,” she says, eyeing Jyn until she lowers her fists. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

The woman has dark, curly hair that’s pulled back into a tight pony-tail; despite that, small ringlets curl around her face. Though she is a complete stranger, there’s something oddly familiar about her face. Jyn’s never seen her in her life (she’s good with people, usually remembers who’s she’s run into), but feels a sense of _knowing_ between them. Maybe she’s met someone like a cousin, a sibling, a relative – someone with enough of a resemblance for it to make sense. 

“You didn’t startle me,” she shoots back in the contrary, chest moving up and down as she struggles to control her breathing. Sweat drips down her forehead and she raises her hand to wipe it off her face, likely smearing blood on her skin in the process. That doesn’t bother her – what she’s truly irritated by is how she’s been interrupted. “What the hell do you want?” 

“You’ve got a little – “ the other motions to the same spot on her face with a frown, sighing when Jyn doesn’t move to clean herself. Yet another sign to warn people away – not like this woman had obeyed them. “Listen, I don’t know you and I’m just here to work out, but something tells me that you’re. . .” she pauses, mulling over what to say next, “. . . _upset._ Are you all right?” 

That’s a mild way to put it. Jyn hadn’t been trying to hide her anger, so it doesn’t bother her that the other has picked up on it so quickly, but it’s none of her business. Jyn narrows her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest; she’s painfully aware of how little clothing she’s wearing, the old sports bra and gym shorts doing nothing except making her feel vulnerable and exposed in her own skin. 

People don’t do things without wanting something in return – that’s a lesson she’d learned the hard way. Whatever this woman is doing, it’s not possible that she’s acting out of the kindness of her heart. No one has ever just – _approached_ her and asked if she’s okay. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? Who fucking _does_ that?

“I’m fine,” she brushes off with a shrug, then crosses her arms over her chest, moving on the defensive. It’s easier to push her walls up and lash out, using barbed words and pointed looks as her weapons – especially in the face of a stranger. She’s not about to spill out her problems to someone she doesn’t know; it’s hard enough to talk to those she does trust (the conversation with Cassian at the forefront of her mind). “What do you care? Like you said, I don’t even know you.” 

“No, you don’t,” she mirrors Jyn’s actions, shrugging a shoulder with a soft smile. “But I knew that if I didn’t say anything, I would be kicking myself about it later.” 

Ah, the motive. The other woman has taken actions to prevent further guilt. Jyn turns away, nodding her head, angling herself to show only a side-profile, hiding the best she can in the shadows. Now she understands what’s going on here. “Well, you’ve said something. I’m fine, like I’ve already told you. Anything else, or can I get back to what I was doing?” 

Irritatingly, the woman doesn’t leave her alone. Instead, she continues the conversation further, when all Jyn wants to do is continue her merciless beating of the punching bag hanging a few feet away. “Maybe haunted’s a better word. My husband, Kes, he’s a detective – sometimes he comes home with this look in his eye, just like the one that’s on your face now. Those nights,” she shakes her head, biting her lip, “those nights are hard ones.” 

Jyn doesn’t deny that she looks haunted (it’s true – glimpses of her appearance in reflective services have sent even her own self reeling back); her mind focuses on one small detail. She can’t properly respond to concern, so her brain chooses to ignore the sentiment and dig instead. “Wait – what did you say your name was again?” 

“I didn’t,” her lips turn up into a smile. “Name’s Shara Bey.” 

“And your husband? What is he – Kes Bey?” 

“Oh, he would laugh to hear you call him that,” she grins, chuckling at the misunderstanding. It only makes Jyn’s scowl deepen, as she hates being mocked when she’s trying to puzzle out something confusing. “No, we kept our respective last names. He’s a Dameron – Kes Dameron.” 

The gears in her mind shift, working desperately to figure out what’s on the tip of her tongue. The names, the face, it’s all so familiar. She _knows_ this woman somehow, recognizes the name, but it’s buried deep in the back of her mind, without enough clues to fully tug it – 

And then it clicks. 

_"This is your godson?" Jyn stands on her tiptoes, trying to get a better look at the sleeping baby on Cassian’s shoulder. It’s weird seeing him like this, outside of an official work setting. He looks almost. . .domestic. Like a stay-at-home dad or something. It looks completely natural for him to be holding a kid in his arms._

_(The thought that he would be a good father crosses her mind very briefly and leaves just as quickly as it arrived.)_

_"Mhm. His parents are friends of mine. I work with his father."_

_"Who are they?"_

_"Why do you care?" he asks. His brows raise suspiciously as he speaks, almost unconsciously hiking Poe farther up on his shoulder. "Don't tell me you're going to try something."_

_"I'm not going to try anything," she replies, a little offended at his lack of trust. They’re not exactly close, but he’s got to understand that she’s not going to do anything to risk going back to Wobani. And what would she even try? She doesn’t even_ know _these people. "I don't really care. I was just trying to make conversation."_

_"Shara Bey and Kes Dameron."_

_"Hm." She ponders this for a moment, but her mind comes up blank. She shakes her head. "Don't know 'em. I didn't think that I would, but," she shrugs a shoulder, "stranger things have happened to me."_

_"I believe that," he mutters, leaning his side against the doorway. Staring down at her almost – fondly. She finds herself returning the small smile on his face, only interrupted by him clearing his throat. “You said you had something for me?”_

_Right – the reason she’s here in the first place. Back to business, she supposes._

Jyn snaps her fingers, pleased that she’s figured it out yet annoyed that it’s taken her this long. Saw used to pride her on how good she was at observation and that had been an almost painful attempt; but, she thinks darkly, he won’t be able to chastise her for it now, never will be able to again. 

(She should have tried to make amends weeks ago. She hates herself for own anger as it had been the force preventing their reunion. She should have tried harder to be the daughter – no, the _soldier_ he’d always wanted.)

“I know you,” she says slowly. “Well, not really. But I was in your house a couple of weeks ago. Met your son.” 

And that. . .that sounds bad. Jyn winces as soon as the words come out of her mouth, face twisting into a grimace. That makes her sound like a common house burglar, which is _false_ – she’s never broken in someone’s home without them deserving it. Enemy gang members, for instance; she’s rather good at sneaking in and out undetected, light fingers grabbing what she’s after without a sound.

Not surprisingly, Shara takes a step back, eyeing her warily. Her hand reaches into her bag, though what she’s grabbing, Jyn doesn’t know. If she’s smart, it’s her phone or pepper spray. “You what?”

But Jyn can’t allow her to call the cops. Her contract is very clear where it says that if the police are alerted of any illegal behavior, then this whole arrangement is over. Quickly, Jyn raises her hands, tries to look non threatening even after admitting to being at this complete stranger’s house before, “I know Cassian. Cassian Andor. I know he’s your son’s godfather – he’s the one who invited me over about two weeks ago. We were working on the details for a case, but he was babysitting, so we just. . .” 

Shara still looks wary, but she hasn’t dialed 911 yet. “Who are you?” 

“Jyn Erso. I work with Cassian. Well, kinda,” she shrugs. “I work for his boss, who put Cassian in charge of me for the time being.” 

Does that make Cassian her boss? She’s never really thought about it before, has never really thought of Cassian in a position of authority above her. He’s her handler, officially, but she’s never been good at following orders, anyway; truthfully, the only person in that office who she considers to have any power over her is Draven, so until her contract is over, she’ll show him the bare minimum of respect. 

But her and Cassian? They’re so far gone from informant and handler, boss and employee. He’s just Cassian and she’s just Jyn and it works. 

Recognition dawns in Shara’s eyes. “I know you,” she says slowly. “I think Kes has mentioned you once or twice. You’re the informant, right? The one they took right out of. . .” She trails off, having the good grace to look sheepish at what almost slipped out of her mouth. 

But what does it matter? She’s used to it, anyway. The one thing that people know about her, the only thing people care about once they find out. It’s not – ”Oh, Jyn Erso, Galen Erso’s daughter” or “Oh, Jyn Erso, the girl who was so good at science and math before she was pulled out of school.” No, It’s always, “Oh, Jyn Erso, the criminal.” 

Everything she’s done has been erased in the fact that she’s broken the law a dozen times. She’s not ashamed of her past some days, but most of the times she is – when meeting new people, she is. When applying for jobs, she is. When a background check is needed, she is. 

And now that she’s trying to make things right by working with the police, she’s still just a fucking criminal. 

“Right out of Wobani? Right out of prison?” Jyn chuckles humorlessly, shaking her head and letting her bangs fall over her eyes to hide the pain there. “Yep, that’s me. Bingo. Hole in one. You got it.” 

Though Jyn can sense Shara’s wariness, she’s pleasantly surprised when the other woman takes her hand out of her bag and doesn’t back away. “It’s about time I’ve met you,” Shara says slowly. “Cassian – you know him, he doesn’t talk much – but he’s mentioned your name enough times for it to catch my attention. And Kes says that he’s changed in the past few weeks.” 

Jyn pauses. She doesn’t really want to talk about her relationship with Cassian (or lack thereof), not when her mind is a swirl of emotional turmoil, but this opportunity is too good to pass up. She’s always been nosey, though her mother used to call it inquisitiveness; now is no different. “Changed how?” 

“How he was a couple months ago – ” Shara bites her lip. “It’s not my secret to tell, but it wasn’t good. He’s better now. Whether it’s because of you or other reasons, I don’t know, but it’s nice to see him improving.” 

“Hmm,” Jyn muses to herself quietly, not having much else to say to that. Truthfully, this surprises her, the possibility that she’s making someone better. She has nothing to compare _her_ Cassian to the one in the past, so she can’t cross-reference Shara’s statement, but there’s no reason for the other woman to lie. 

A clamor in the front of the gym catches both of their attention. The door bursts open, a very disheveled Cassian stumbling in like a bat out of hell. His demeanor is normally so professional, his appearance so put together that Jyn almost cannot believe his current state. 

The man at the front desk starts at the sudden intrusion, brows furrowed in confusion. “Can I help you, sir?” 

“Sorry, I just – ” He takes a step forward, catches Jyn’s eye from the back of the gym when he cranes his neck to take a look around. “Jyn! There you are!” 

“Sir, you need to pay before entering the gym – ” 

“I’m here on police business.” A flash of his badge. “I just need to talk to her for a few minutes, okay?” He leans in and says something quiet that Jyn can’t catch, but the worker nods quickly, pressing the button to open up the gates and let him in. 

Jyn curses, wishing that the punching bags had been placed farther away from the entrance. She turns back to Shara, picks up her own gym bag where she’d left it. Her anger is gone, replaced with an anxious tension, and she bounces on her heels to try to displace it. She doesn’t want to talk to him, doesn’t want to talk about Saw or the investigation. “There’s my cue to go.” 

Hoping to make it to the women’s locker room before he catches up with her, Jyn hustles toward the back of the gym before Shara can even say goodbye. It’s a dirty trick she’s pulling, since it’s unlikely Cassian’s limp will be able to match her quick feet, but she _doesn’t want to talk._

A hand grabs her by the wrist. She falters, spinning to face Shara’s narrowed eyes. “Oh no,” she says. “I don’t mean to meddle, but at least hear him out. I know he’s working today – clearly he’s on his lunch break – so whatever it is, it’s probably important, okay?” 

Jyn wrenches her hand out of her grip, immensely cross. “Whatever it is, it’s none of your business – ” 

“You’re right, it’s not,” the other woman replies mildly. “But it’ll hurt him if you run away from this. And if you do anything to hurt him, I’ll kill you.” 

Jyn’s eyes narrow. It’s not like they’re dating or anything – don’t the threats from friends and family usually come when people announce they’re together? This is someone close to Cassian – he wouldn’t appreciate Jyn pulling out a weapon and threatening her back – so she keeps her answer simple. “Noted.”

That doesn’t seem to be good enough for Shara. She props her hands on her hips. “I’m serious. Just because I’ve had a baby doesn’t mean I can’t fuck you up if I need to. I was in the Air Force for years – I know my way around a weapon.” 

“So do I,” she remarks casually, as if they’re talking about the weather or making inane small talk. “I’ve been shot before. It hardly bothers me.” 

(That’s a lie – getting shot fucking _hurts._ Good thing she’s gotten extremely adept at dodging bullets.) 

“You know what I mean.” 

Cassian reaches them, brows narrowed and a frown tugging down his lips. “Shara. I didn’t know you were going to be here.” 

The scowl that Jyn shoots the other woman goes unnoticed when Shara speaks. “It’s my day off. Gotta keep in shape, right? I’ll let you two get to it.” A glance at Cassian. “If you need anything, just shout.” 

“What would I even do?” she mutters under her breath. “We’re in a _public_ place.” 

“Shara’s, ah,” he rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish as he watches Shara walk off toward the locker rooms. “She’s protective. That’s just how she is. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” 

Shara had mentioned before that Cassian’s like family to her, Kes and Poe – Jyn can hardly blame Shara for being fiercely loyal to the ones she loves. There’s respect to be had there; Jyn’s the same way. She’d do anything for her brother, for her friends – even Cassian’s edged his way into her heart. 

In her eyes, Saw had still be deserving of her affection, even with everything he’d done. For eight years, he’d been the only family she’d had; in the years after he’d abandoned her, she’d still thought of him fondly when not blinded by anger. 

Now, though. Now her loyalty has done him no favors. There are so many things she could have done to prevent this outcome, either by forcing her way back into the Partisans or refusing to give the police information. Instead she’s been selfish, giving him up to make her own situation better. 

What kind of daughter is she?

“How did you know I was here?” she asks suspiciously. “Are you stalking me?” 

He levels her with a look, seeing right through her attempts to deflect. “It’s my job to know where you are at all times.” 

“You’re not my parole officer.” 

“Handler, parole officer,” he shrugs, “Same thing. I tapped into your phone to find you.” 

Right. That one irritating part of the contract where she has to share her location with him. Jyn scowls at the reminder, making a note to turn that feature off next time she’s on her phone. What’s he going to do, put her in jail for that? He can certainly _try._

“What do you want, Cassian?” she asks with a heavy sigh, her words pointed but not unkind. “I know you’re working today. Whatever it is, can’t it wait?” 

He shakes his head. “I wanted – no, _needed_ – to make sure that you knew what was going on. What happened a few hours ago.” 

So her hunch had been correct. Jyn turns her face away, eyes hardening. “I don’t want to talk business right now, Cassian.” 

“I’m not here to talk business, just to – ” 

“I know what happened, okay?” she brushes off his concern like dirt on her shoulder, trying not to let his words affect her. If she talks about it, then she has to face what happened, and if she has to face it, then all the emotions she’s been trying to keep bottled up will start spilling out and over. She’s already cried once in front of Cassian – she will _not_ be doing that again. “I know. I saw it on the news.” 

Cassian winces. “I wish you could have heard it from someone else.” 

“Someone like you?” 

“Yeah, Jyn,” he sighs, looking so, so tired. The haunted look that Shara had been talking about – she sees that in his eyes now. “I wish you could have heard it from someone like me. Not from some reporter who doesn’t give a shit about you or Saw.” 

Just hearing the name sends a ripple of pain through her body. It plays over and over in her memories – SAW GERRERA SHOT IN JEDHA. The reporters voice, the helicopter view of the warehouse – she croaks out, “Don’t say his name.” 

“I won’t again. I’m sorry.” 

Jyn wraps her arms around her midsection, breathing in and out through her nose as her eyes water. Her chin is tucked down against her chest as she struggles to maintain her composure, reminding herself again and again that she’s in a public place. “What are you really doing, Cassian?” she asks quietly, willing her voice not to break. “Why are you really here?” 

“I’m not here to talk about politics or work or anything like that,” he says gently. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“I’m fine,” she lies through her teeth, the words reflexive and unconscious as anything. She doesn’t even mean to say it – it just happens naturally. 

A pause. A look from Cassian that tells her he doesn’t a word of that. 

Then she admits with a cracking voice, “I don’t think I am.” 

She closes her eyes, bracing herself for the response from her vulnerability – a blow, a verbal tongue lashing? But he does none of those things, just wraps an arm around her shoulders and asks, “Do you want to get out of here?” 

Would anyone else get it? Few would treat her with the simple, understanding kindness that he always does. Saw is a criminal he’s been trying to catch for years – in his death, he should be celebrating with the rest of the police department. Instead, he’s chosen to be here with her to make sure she’s okay and using up the hours of lunch break for her. _For her._

A nod, but it doesn’t feel like her head is connected to her body. She watches herself strip the bandages off of her knuckles and tosses them, hears Cassian’s intake of breath at the blood on her skin but says nothing (she doesn’t feel any of it), watches as he leads her out of the gym, hears him ask if she wants a ride home and hears her respond that she doesn’t want to go back there, that she can’t, that she won’t –

When she slides into the passenger seat of his car, the slam of the car door wakes her out of her fogginess. She blinks rapidly, presses a hand to her forehead, winces at the pain when she flexes her fingers. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. “You back with me?” 

“Yeah,” she mutters, raking her hands through her hair, tugging out her loose elastic and letting it fall against her shoulders in loose waves. The base of her skull aches from where she’d so tightly combed her hair back into a bun. 

“You said you didn’t want to go home.” 

“I don’t.” She offers him no other options of where he could take her, barely having enough energy to speak the two words. How much had she slept last night? She doesn’t think she’d gotten even a minute. 

“Would you. . .” he hesitates. “Would you want to go back to my place, then?” 

Another nod. 

“Jyn?” 

“Yeah.” 

The drive passes quickly. As soon as he’d started the car, soft music filled the small space, pleasant but going in one ear and out the other. Jyn spends most of it with her head against the window. With each pothole and break in the road, her forehead rattles on the glass; by the way Cassian apologizes with each one he hits, she imagines he’s doing his best to avoid them. 

She doesn’t realize that the car has stopped until Cassian opens her door for her, leaning down with a concerned look in his eyes. “We’re here.”

Getting out of the car silently, Jyn shoves her hands into her pockets and looks up at the building in front of them. He’s parked on the street in one of those ten-minute parking spaces, telling her that he’s not planning on staying.

Catching her gaze, he says, “I have to go back to work, but I thought I’d get you comfortable before I went.” 

Why would he take such lengths just for her? Even as they go up the stairs together, he routinely looks back at her to make sure that she’s still there and doing okay. She wants to tell him that she’s fine, that she can manage a few flights on her own, but. . .she doesn’t. 

The interior is just the same as it had been last time – clean, organized, and perfunctory. She sits on the couch, hands on her lap as she watches him flit around the apartment, placing a bottle of ibuprofen, disinfecting spray, and a roll of clean gauze in front of her. 

“To take care of your hands,” he explains, shoving his own deep in his pockets. “Since you bought a third of these supplies, you should be comfortable with actually using them.” 

Jyn blinks, shifting her focus from the table in front of her back to him. He looks – nervous. On edge. But most of all, he looks worried. 

About her? She wonders absently. Why would he be worried about her?

“I have to go back to work,” he says after another beat of silence. “Are you going to be okay here by yourself?

She nods again. It’s all she has the energy to do. It’s difficult to even track his progress with her eyes as he leaves his apartment with promises to be back soon. 

It’s too quiet now that Cassian’s gone and no one’s speaking to fill up the silence. She debates turning on his TV to at least fill the space with background chatter, but the memory of the last time she’d flipped the news on is still stark in her brain. 

Each time she blinks, her eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Eventually, she finds herself curled up on his couch, dragging down the throw blanket draped over the back and pulling it over her body. It smells like him, she thinks fuzzily, and that scent is enough to lull her into an empty, dreamless sleep. 

As she always does with him, she feels _safe_. And that’s enough for now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so – this marks the second to last chapter i have written. im at school right now, and while i have chapter 12 finished, i need to put my education first. this means that i'll update for sure next saturday but after that, i might not have time to write. who knows? i might keep up the constant weekly updates, you never know. i hope you all understand
> 
> next chapter: everyone's favorite rebelcaptain trope


	12. Chapter 12

_Five things you can see._

Her shaking hands in front of her face; the little stitches in Cassian’s couch, grey and brown threads interlocking with each other; the untouched bottle of ibuprofen on the coffee table in front of her; a beer can sitting on the ground next to the trash can; her phone lighting up and flashing with unread text messages and ignored calls. 

_Four things you can touch._

Her fingers skim across the broad lines of her face, but it doesn’t feel real underneath her touch; her hair that’s sticking to her cheek and will likely leave imprints when she moves; her sports bra that’s digging into her chest; the soft blanket that’s keeping her warm as she lays down.

_Three things you can hear._

The ticking of the clock in the kitchen; the rasping of her own breath; the sounds of the city below her.

_Two things you can smell._

Her unwashed skin, smelling of sweat and body odor; the comforting scent that she’s learned to associate with Cassian.

_One thing you can taste._

Her tongue sweeps the expanse of her mouth, trying to ground herself in the old coffee taste stuck to her teeth. 

_Again. Start over. Again and again until you can breathe._

_Five things. . ._

* * *

Cassian could worry himself sick over the state of he’d left Jyn behind in – in fact, he almost has once already, glancing and trying to gauge the distance to the bathroom with his eyes alone – but instead chooses to do something about it, to take action and actually help her in whatever way he could. 

Seeing her like that, despondent when so usually filled with life, the spark in her eye completely gone – he hadn’t known how to react, but it feels like a black hole has opened up in his chest. Shara had texted him about an hour after he’d left the gym, letting him know the details of their conversation before he’d arrived and the condition she’d been in. He’d seen the punching bag behind her as well as the bruises and breaks on her hands, but it hadn’t registered until later as he’d been so concerned in giving her the news himself. He’d assumed – well, he assumed that she’d gotten into a fight or something, but mother above, she’d done that to her _own damn self_. 

Perhaps he hadn’t understood how strongly Jyn feels. She goes through life with a doggedness that he admires, stubborn to a fault, ambitious as hell, won’t take no for an answer. She’s quick to anger, rage rising up red hot inside her body – it would only make sense for her to feel sorrow so deeply she turns folds inward, not even having the energy to speak. 

Not being one to take time off even when dying, Cassian knows that Draven would give him leave for the rest of the day if he asked. But he doesn’t want to be too forward – she’s already in his apartment, for God’s sake. No, he figures that she would do better in more familiar company; though he hadn’t been able to ease her out of her protective shell, maybe someone else might. 

He finds Bodhi Rook’s phone number easily; the police database is extensive, has more on people than they often think regardless if they’ve even broken the law. He dials up the number, kicking his feet up on Kay’s empty chair and stretching out his leg. (Admittedly, he should have taken some of the ibuprofen he’d given Jyn for himself; there’s more than enough in the bottle to share, but he hadn’t wanted to heavy the burden already on her shoulders.) 

It’s the middle of the work day, so he’s not surprised when Bodhi doesn’t pick up immediately, but his impatience grows when he hits voicemail. He ends the call with a press of a button and tries again; this time, when he gets nothing but the dial tone on the other end of the line, he leaves a quick message – ”Bodhi. It’s Cassian. Call me back as soon as possible. It’s about Jyn.” 

Would it be overkill to try again? The last thing he wants is for Bodhi to go into a panic; if he’s piloting right now and picks his phone up in an hour to see dozens of missed calls, that will be no help to either of them. For him to even have a chance to snap Jyn out of her daze and help her onto the path of recovery, Bodhi needs to be calmer than Cassian’s ever seen him. 

His phone buzzes with a new text message, and he almost tips out of his chair in his haste to read it. If his luck is good, then it’s Jyn telling him that – 

**[ Unknown Number, 2:39 p.m. ]** Hey it’s Bodhi, sorry I didn’t know it was you, I never pick up the phone  
 **[ Unknown Number, 2:40 p.m. ]** I’ll call you back

True to his word, the same number rings a few seconds later. When Cassian answers it, Bodhi speaks immediately, out of breath as if he’d just been running. _“Cassian – sorry, I don’t pick up the phone and I didn’t recognize your number. How did you, um get my number in the first place? Ah, stupid question – you’re a cop.”_

It’s endearing how Bodhi rambles; over the past few weeks and countless hours spent together, Cassian’s learned that it happens when he’s worried, that he can’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth once they’ve entered his brain. Cassian loathes to interrupt, but there’s no time to let the other man down gently. “I need your help. It’s Jyn. She found out about Saw and is at my apartment now, but she’s completely despondent. I don’t know what to do.” 

_“I know.”_

“You know?” Confusion creases his brow. How the hell would he know about what had happened between the two of them – 

_“I know she knows about Saw,”_ Bodhi clarifies. _“I texted her this, this morning after I saw it on the news.”_

The conversation from the first time he’d met Bodhi floats in the front of his memories. How Jyn and Bodhi had argued about Saw, and Jyn had mentioned that Saw had hurt him, too. Cassian knows very little about what happened between the three of them, but if Jyn is _this_ upset, then perhaps Bodhi is as well. He takes the time to ask, “How are you doing with all this, Bodhi?” 

_“Um – no, I’m fine. Me and Saw, we weren’t on good terms. He – he hurt me a couple years ago, made me how, how I am. I won’t get into it now, but – no. I’m upset for Jyn, but not, not for myself. Does that make sense?”_

Cassian hadn’t know Bodhi before Saw; who he is today is all Cassian knows. He doesn’t fully understand what the other man means, but takes it as a sign that Bodhi is doing better than Jyn is right now. “I understand. Jyn, though – she’s not handling it as well. I was thinking that you could reach out to her? I would myself, but she wouldn’t talk to me earlier and I don’t want to push.” 

_“Yeah, yeah. That’s no problem. I was going to – going to call her after I got off work, but I’ll do it now. Not doing anything interesting, anyway. You said she’s, she’s at your apartment? Do you want me to check up on her?”_

Cassian shakes his head, despite Bodhi not being able to see the motion. He doesn’t exactly know Jyn’s wishes, but he’d sensed she wanted to be alone. “No, no. I’m off work in less than three hours, and I’m the only one with the key. Let me know if she doesn’t respond – I’ll see if I can leave early. If she wants you to come over, I can unlock the door for you.” 

_“Okay. Before I go, Galen – Jyn’s father, he texted me a couple hours ago.”_

“What did he say?” 

_“That Jyn had reached out. She wants to set up a meeting between all of us.”_

Going to the gym yesterday to confront Jyn hadn’t entirely been for selfless reasons; though Jyn’s wellbeing had been his first priority – and still is – he’d wanted to come clean about the conversation he’d had with Draven the night previous. He doesn’t feel right keeping her in the dark about her own fate. . .and consequently, the fate of her father and Orson Krennic as well. 

It seems that Draven has the same idea that the Rebellion has – that arresting Krennic won’t be easy. His boss had given the green light to try and get dirt against Krennic and the rest of the Empire, but his true target is Galen Erso. That’s one he doesn’t know how to break to Jyn, but he’s going to have to figure it out soon; Jyn’s been invited to come in tomorrow for a “few questions” – the nice way of ordering her to an interrogation about her past and family. 

He hates what he had to do, but it’d been the only thing he’d thought of when put on the spot. Above all else, he is going to save her. 

(He only hopes that she sees it that way, too.)

“Thanks for letting me know,” Cassian says heavily, remembering that he has to respond to the other man’s statement. “Keep me updated with how it goes with Jyn.” 

_“Got it.”_

When Bodhi hands up, Cassian tosses his phone onto his desk with a loud _thwack!_ and massages the area between his eyes. A startled intern looks up at him, but he ignores them. To get through the rest of the day, he’s going to need more coffee. 

* * *

It’s not easy to get the rest of his work done, especially not with the commotion in the office. There are cops running in and out, their holding cells are near overflowing with Partisans they’d picked up outside of the warehouse – the noise is enough to distract anyone, let alone a detective who has other worries on his mind. When Bodhi had called to let him know that Jyn isn’t answering his phone, that anxiety has only increased tenfold; he doesn’t know how to best help her, but what he does know is that he’ll be leaving work early today so he can at least _try._

Claiming that his leg is bothering him more than usual (because admitting to Draven that his criminal informant is currently close to comatose in his apartment), Cassian sneaks out about an hour before scheduled. In the chaos, nobody notices; not even Kay – which is a testament to how busy the rest of his coworkers are. If not for his leg and back injury, he suspects he would be same boat. 

(Without his injury, he wouldn’t have known Jyn at all. He’d never thought he would be thankful for that fall, but stranger things have happened to him.) 

The drive home takes longer than usual, with traffic, extra steps, and an influx of people crossing the street when he’s trying to pass. At stoplights and times where his wheels are barely moving, he breaks the law and tries texting Jyn multiple times, even calls her, but to no avail. Just like Bodhi, he gets nothing – which only makes his worry grow. To have Saw die within minutes of hanging up with her father (one that she hasn’t talked to in years), it’s just – _shit_. He can’t leave her alone in this state, no matter what she wants. 

Instead of waiting for the elevator, he takes the stairs two at a time, reaching his door and sliding the key in the lock in record time. Jyn is right where he’d left her, though sometime in the past four or five hours she’d tipped over onto her side, pulled his throw blanket over herself, and fallen asleep. 

He lets out a heavy sigh that she’s still here, that she isn’t drinking or smoking or doing something else that might harm her own wellbeing. In his relief, he completely forgets himself and shuts the front door like he would if he hadn’t had company. 

_Loudly._

Jyn startles awake, the blanket falling off her shoulders as she scrambles upward, reaching for something – a weapon, he realizes, when she grabs the bottle of ibuprofen and goes to throw it at him. It’s so much better than the despondent state he’d left her in that he wouldn’t even mind if she’d nailed him in the head with that. Her arm falters when she sees him, confusion etched across her face. “Cassian?” 

He curses his lack of thought. “Sorry, sorry!” he exclaims, holding up his hands. “It’s just me. I didn’t mean to wake you – I just never have anyone over, is all. I forgot myself.” 

She blinks slowly, running a hand through her messy hair. Her eyes are wide and sleepy, and she looks unguarded, the most vulnerable he’s seen her when not breaking down. It’s a sight that he wants to see again but doubts that he will; all the same, he commits it to memory, a soft smile on his face. 

“What’re you smiling about?” 

He stops smiling, rubbing the lower half of his face instead, trying to hide the any traces of fondness. “Nothing. Just, ah. I’m surprised you’re still here, is all.” 

Jyn sits up properly, blanket pooling around her waist. He doesn’t know why it’s strange to see her still in her workout clothes; she’d brought her gym bag back to his apartment, but hadn’t expected her to change. When both of her arms reach up to tie her hair back, the muscles in her exposed abdomen and shoulders ripple. He finds himself staring, tongue darting out to lick his lips before he catches himself. He’d known that Jyn is strong, but hadn’t exactly considered it much before now. And he’s certainly. . . _considering_ it. 

_(Focus, Andor!)_

“Cassian?” 

“Yeah, sorry.” Stars above, he’s a mess. She’s the one who’s grieving and he’s standing here ogling like a lovesick man. He toes off his shoes and leaves them next to the door, walking into the kitchen and placing his bag and coat on a nearby chair. He can feel Jyn’s eyes on his back as he unpacks from work. “Are you feeling any better?” 

She lifts a shoulder. “Define better.” 

He leans against the table, crossing his arms over his chest after pushing back the sleeves of his button-up shirt. (If he’s not mistaken, then he’s caught her looking at his exposed forearms; he’s not as muscular as her, but there’s _something_ there.) “You’re talking,” he observes pointedly. “Which is more than what I can say from earlier. I’d say you’re doing better.” 

She shrugs again, leaning forward to pluck her phone off of the coffee table. She frowns when she looks at the screen, eyebrows furrowing as she looks through what’s probably dozens of missed calls and texts. “Fuck.” 

“I didn’t know how to help you,” he confesses with a hint of uncertainty. Had he pushed the boundaries? Should he have just let her be? At the time, he’d thought it to be the best option, as he’d garnered no reaction (neither good nor bad) from her, but now he’s not so sure. “I called Bodhi and asked him to reach out to you.” 

“I was asleep,” she offers, chewing on her bottom lip. “Let me just. . .” she pauses, thumbs flying over her phone keyboard. When she’s done, she glances up at him. “I let him know that I’m fine.” 

That’s not the word Cassian would use to describe her current state, but he doesn’t question it. “Do you want me to take you home?” 

_“No!”_

Her answer is vehement enough to startle him. Thinking she’s apprehensive of the burden the action might place on him, he’s quick to say, “It’s no trouble. You don’t live too far away.” 

“I don’t want to go home,” she tells him, shaking her head. There’s a hint of apprehension in her voice that he’s not used to hearing. “Not right now.” 

“You don’t have to. Whatever makes you most comfortable – I don’t mind having you here.” 

Her shoulders sag, head bowed. Her lips move silently for a couple seconds before she murmurs finally, “Thank you.” 

His heart clenches in his chest, an ache right between his ribs threatening to burst. It’s a simple act of kindness, one that he hasn’t even thought twice about, but to Jyn it clearly means everything. He wonders if anyone has offered her a place to stay when she’s needed it before, wonders if anyone has even cared to ask. 

She stands, neatly folding his blanket and placing it gingerly on the couch. She grabs her bag and hoists it over her shoulder. “Would you mind if I used your shower? I have my own shampoo and everything – I was planning on rinsing off at the gym.” 

“That’s fine,” he says – because it is – but there’s something he has to say first. “Listen, before you do. . .” 

“Yeah?” 

His tongue wets his dry lips as he struggles to find the right words. He doesn’t want Jyn to feel forced to stay if she doesn’t want to – and she very well may want to leave once he tells her what he’s done. “I talked to Draven about your future. I told you that he wanted to arrest Saw before the year is up, but now he’s dead.” 

Her hand tightens around the strap, white knuckles and clenched jaw. “I hadn’t even thought about that,” she confesses quietly. This is likely the first time her own fate has crossed her mind since her godfather died. “What did he say?” 

“He asked me if I thought you had potential as an informant.” 

“And what did you say?” Her eyes are wide but determined, chin raising haughtily as the possibility of him going behind her back like that. 

“I said that you did,” and before her expression melts into relief, he adds, “but I had to make a deal.” 

“Well, that’s okay, isn’t it? I trust you,” Jyn remarks, propping her free hand on her hip. When he doesn’t reply, she asks with a furrowed brow, “Cassian?” 

(He knows that she trusts him, but to hear her say it. . .it hurts to think that she might not do so anymore.)

“I told him about our plan with Krennic, but that wasn’t enough for him,” he runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Like the Rebellion, he doesn’t think that we’ll be able to get him. So I – to protect you, I told him about your father.” An inhale of breath, pain crossing her features, but he doesn’t dare look away. He owes her this small thing, at the very least. 

“I didn’t give him details, just that he’s alive and still working for the Empire. And now,” he swallows. “Draven wants to investigate. If you can give the department your father, you will stay out of prison. I’m sorry, Jyn. It doesn’t make it better but I didn’t know what else to do.” 

He watches her carefully as the news hits her, but she keeps her face almost completely blank. “So this changes. . .?” 

“Nothing,” he says vehemently. “I still want to go after Krennic. I promise you, I won’t let them take your father; I didn’t know what else to say to get him to keep you on as an informant.” 

She nods slowly, her eyes studying his face intently. “All right,” she says after a beat, when the tension grows to a breaking point. “I trust you.” 

“You do?” _You still do?_

“Yeah. Trust has to go both ways and all that,” she shrugs, chewing on her lower lip. “I mean, I’m not happy about it. But I understand why you did it.” 

Cassian nearly falls to the ground in relief, the table behind him being the only thing to hold him upright. “If you want to go, I can take you home,” he tells her. “I know a lot has happened to you in the past two days.” 

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she says. He doesn’t doubt her words, but oh, how he wishes they aren’t true. “Is it still okay if I shower?” 

He can hardly believe she wants to stay; he’s nodding before she even finishes speaking. “I could order Chinese take-out for dinner?” 

Though strained, she smiles over her shoulder as she heads down the hallway to the bathroom. “I’d like that.” 

The door shuts behind her, the water turning on a minute or two later. Cassian digs his phone out of his bag and tries not to think about how Jyn’s naked only a few feet away. 

(He fails. He thinks about it.) 

* * *

Jyn moves through the motions as if on autopilot, her hands shampooing her hair and washing up without her mind even thinking about it; her thoughts are otherwise occupied on the conversation she’s just had with Cassian.

Her own feelings about Galen are complicated. He’s been dead to her for years – his fate shouldn’t matter as much as it suddenly does. It seems, she muses to herself grimly as she rinses her hair, that the phone call between the two of them has changed something inside her. 

Now she doesn’t know _what_ she wants with him. 

Does she blame Cassian for spilling her secrets? A little bit, even if what he told Draven had been as vague as possible. The motives behind it had been good – when’s the last time anyone had stuck their own neck out like that for her? – but she can’t help but feel a bit betrayed. She so very rarely spills secrets of her past, and her father is a sore subject for her. Trust goes both ways – she still believes that – but it’s difficult not to feel resentment for his actions. 

She feels much better when she climbs out of the shower. Though she has a towel of her own, she can’t help but steal one of Cassian’s to wrap around her wet hair; it’s cleaner and fresher than hers, and it has the added bonus of smelling like him. It’s just borrowing, not stealing, so she lets herself indulge in this one, small comfort. 

As soon as she’s dressed and leaves the bathroom, Cassian’s setting take-out boxes on the table. “You’re just in time,” he says warmly. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered. . .” his eyes traverse the amount of food on the table, likely for the first time realizing just how much he bought. “I got a bit of everything.” 

Her mouth curls into a smile, warmth spreading throughout her chest. “It’s good that I happen to like everything, then.” 

Dinner is spent in companionable silence, the two of them content to enjoy both the food and each other’s company. She offers to help clean up but there isn’t much to do other than throw away what they’ve eaten and put what they haven’t in the refrigerator. It’s a surprise to both of them when she agrees to take some of it home; he’s right that he can’t eat all of it and she could use food anyway. 

She stretches her arm up over her head and yawns. It’s much later than she thought; one glance at the clock tells her that she should probably head out. The thing is, as her eyes slide over to Cassian, that she doesn’t want to. The past few hours have distracted her more than way more than the punching bag ever could; _she doesn’t want to go_. 

“I should probably get out of your hair,” her traitor mouth says, encouraged by her brain and ignoring what her heart wants. “It’s late and you probably have work tomorrow.” 

“You don’t have to,” he exclaims so quick that Jyn gets whiplash, head snapping back to his face incredulously. Had he just. . .? “I mean, if you want to you can. But you don’t have to leave.” 

“You wouldn’t mind?” 

“Not at all.” Is she mistaken when she hears eagerness in his voice. “Your apartment must be a hard place to be right now. You could stay the night if you wanted – I could sleep on the couch and you could take my room.” 

“You’re right,” she says softly. “I don’t want to be there.” Not with the memories of yesterday still lingering. If she sees her broken TV and remote, she might just lose it all over again. 

Then the rest of what he’d said registers. “I’m not kicking you out of your own bed,” she argues. “I can take the couch – I was sleeping there all day anyway.” 

“You’re a guest.” He’s just as stubborn as she is about this, apparently – she shouldn’t have thought otherwise. “A guest shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch.” 

“Well, _I’m_ not going to let you sleep on the couch,” she argues, crossing her arms over her chest. She has one more trick up her sleeve – and it’s a bit of a dirty one. “It’ll be hell on your back.” 

“Sleeping is always hell on my back,” he brushes off. “One night on the couch won’t change that.” 

They’re at a stalemate, both unwilling to budge. Jyn’s the first one to break the silence, voice deceptively light. “This is ridiculous. We’re both adults, yeah? I’m sure one night sharing the same bed won’t kill us.” 

A beat of silence. She fixes her gaze on a spot over Cassian’s shoulder, refusing to meet his eye as she hesitantly adds, “If you’re okay with that.” 

“I am if you are,” he offers up, the corners of his mouth quirking up the tiniest amount. “It’s just one night.” 

“Right,” she echoes. “Just one night.” 

To ease the tension, Cassian asks if she’s ever seen a crime drama that he finds outrageous. Pleased with the change of topic, she replies that she hasn’t, and the next couple hours are spent on his couch, laughing at the inaccuracies and ribbing the main characters for their idiocy. 

(There’s a sex scene, too – now _that_ makes the atmosphere awkward for a few seconds, the two of them pointedly not looking at each other until Jyn breaks the ice with, “Let me tell you now, Andor – women are not that flexible.” 

Cassian snorts out a laugh. “Maybe it has to do with his magic penis.”) 

Two or three episodes later, he’s barely holding back his yawns. “I don’t usually go to bed this early,” he admits, as if he has to uphold his reputation in front of her. “But it’s been a long day. For both of us.” 

She can’t argue with that – though her dumbass mouth takes things a step too far, just before her brain catches up. “Why, Captain Andor, if you wanted to get me in your bed so much you should have just said so!” 

_Fuck._ She visibly winces from the awkwardness that settles over them. But this is what she does best, isn’t it? Ruins the moment before there even _is_ one. 

Cassian stands first, stiffly and slowly. “Come on,” he says gently, as if he can sense her nerves. “I’ll show you my bedroom.” 

She follows him through his apartment, stands a few feet behind him as he pushes open the door and shows her in. The room is neat and immaculate, just like the rest of his living space. There’s not many decorations, no pictures, no pictures on the wall. It’s almost completely bare – a bit clinical looking, if you ask her. But it’s clean and cozy despite that, with a queen-sized bed in the corner of the room and a desk with a window over it to let the light in. 

She steps tentatively into his bedroom, conscious that she’s now entered his private space. The rest of his apartment – it’s for show, for guests, but this room isn’t. She sets her bag against the wall near the foot of the bed and turns to him. “Which side do you normally sleep on?” 

He frowns, considering. “I would prefer the wall,” he says after thinking about it. “If that’s all right with you.” 

“I don’t like to be closed in,” she shrugs. “I’d rather be by the door.” 

“And I don’t like my back being exposed,” he admits wryly. “What a pair we make.” 

“Peas in a pod, right?” 

“Something like that,” he responds just as quick, smiling in a way that makes her heart flip. “I’m going to get changed for bed. Do you have anything to wear?” 

Jyn glances down at her workout clothes, just a sports bra and a pair of leggings. It’s not the most uncomfortable outfit to sleep in and she’s certainly spent the night in worst, but her noise still wrinkles at the thought. Though she’d showered, her clothes are sweaty from earlier this morning; still, she doesn’t want to abuse Cassian’s kindness when he’s given her so much already. “I can just wear this.” 

“I should have some old clothes that might fit you,” he says while moving to his drawers and rifling through them. “They might be a little big, but – ” 

“You don’t have to,” she tries.

Cassian pauses, glancing up at her. “But what if I want to?” 

“Why would you want to?” The idea confounds her. 

“Because I want to help you, Jyn,” he says seriously. “Is that so hard to believe?” 

“I. . .” Is it wrong to admit that it is? She sighs, shakes her head. When Cassian holds out a bundle of clothes, she takes them and turns around to change. What he’s given her is an old college shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and she eagerly strips out of her workout clothes. 

“Are they – _mierda!_ Jyn, you should have said something!” 

Cassian swears as he turns around. She looks over her shoulder to see him slap a hand over his eyes, ears reddening. “I don’t care if you see me,” she says off-handedly, pulling up the sweatpants and rolling the top multiple times to keep them on her hips. “There’s not much to see anyway.” 

(Had she done it on purpose? Maybe.) 

“Right,” he clears his throat. “I’ll get changed then, too.” 

(She doesn’t sneak a peek, even though she wants to.) 

They take turns using the bathroom. She doesn’t have her toothbrush or toothpaste, not having expected to stay the night at someone else’s house, so she hopes her breath is bearable enough considering they’re about to be in close quarters. 

When she gets back to the room, Cassian’s already in bed, back facing the wall. She slides in next to him, careful to leave enough room between them so they’re not touching. Mirroring his positioning, she lays with her front facing the rest of the room, eyes on the door. Her muscles are stiff, laying completely rigid on her side, not wanting to move a muscle in case her skin accidentally brushes against him. 

(But would that really be the worst thing in the world?)

“Can you get the light?” 

“Yeah, ‘course.” Jyn leans over to the desk and turns off the desk lamp, plunging them both into darkness. 

Jyn stays awake for a very, very long time, hyper aware of Cassian’s body less than a foot away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an EXTRA long chapter bc im not positive when the next will come out! thank you all again for all y'all's support, i really really appreciate it! <3


	13. Chapter 13

Jyn wakes up to a warmth pressed up against her back that hadn’t been there when she’d fallen asleep a few hours ago. 

It takes her a few seconds to figure out what it is, her body still drowsy and slow as she regains consciousness. For some reason, her fight-or-flight instinct doesn’t kick in even when she feels the grip of an arm around her waist, holding her tighter against the body behind her. It doesn’t bother her – she’s content, the weight of another feeling comforting rather than constricting, and it’s the safest she’s felt – 

_Fuck she’s in bed with Cassian fuck fuck fuck that’s him wrapped around her body fuck that’s his arm and shit yep there is definitely something hard pressed against the curve of her ass fuck –_

Jyn stiffens but doesn’t want to move. Cassian’s still sleeping; she can feel his even breath against the back of her neck, in and out, in and out. Her heart races so fast, the thrumming in her ears so loud that she’s sure it’ll wake him up. It’s a struggle to keep herself calm, because how the hell is she supposed to be calm when she’s in the arms of the man she thinks she might – 

“. . .Jyn?” 

His whispered words are breathed out against her skin, lips close enough where she could almost imaging them brush her neck. In a moment of what she believes in a sleepy haze, he tugs her closer to him, back-to-back, almost completely flush. 

“Yeah?” Her voice sounds strangled to her ears. 

“What. . .” His voice trails off and she can almost _feel_ the moment that he realizes how close they’re entangled, can time it almost down to the very second. He stiffens just as she had, then scrambles back so far that he hits the wall in his panic. Jyn winces at the _thump_ it makes, worrying that it only exacerbates his injuries. “Shit, Jyn, I’m sorry – ” 

“Don’t apologize,” she’s quick to say, pushing herself into a seated position and palming her hair out of her eyes. Her cheeks are tinted pink, she can feel the warmth of blood rising up to her face, and she makes a point not to look him in the eye, focusing on a spot just over his shoulder. Better to not see the disappointment the flashes over his face when he’d realized that it had been _her_ who he’d woken up next to. “We’re both adults. This doesn’t have to be a big deal – it happens.” 

“I’m going to – use the bathroom,” Cassian says stiltedly, more awkward than she’s ever seen him. He’s up and out of the bed before she even has a chance to respond with anything other than a nod. 

Sighing, she flops back down onto the bed, limbs sprawled across the bed. She turns her head to the side and presses her face down into the pillow, inhaling deeply. Despite the uncomfortable situation and the tension that’s likely to follow, she smiles anyway – a soft, private happiness that’s only for herself. It’ll all be dashed in a few moments anyway. 

Does Cassian have a romantic partner? She’s barely thought about it before now – barely had reason to think about it until now – but as she lays in his bed, the thought rolls around in her brain. There’s no evidence that he does, no ring on his finger, but she doubts it would be laying out in the open; he’s a tidy person, not letting anyone’s clutter sit around in his apartment. She _suspects_ that he doesn’t but nothing has been confirmed. For all she knows, he could be going steady and has been for years. 

Not like it matters anyway. It’s just a passing fancy – he’s one of the first people who’s treated her right ever since she’d gotten out of Wobani. Anyone would start to feel things when they’ve been so deprived of kindness. There isn’t a special connection between them, she just likes making him smile and spending time with him, and the feeling of his arm against her skin and his weight against her back isn’t one she’ll soon forget. 

The sound of Cassian leaving the bathroom and padding back into the room wakes her from her reverie. She fakes a yawn and gets up too, wrinkling her nose when the smell of morning breath hits her nose. She uses the toilet and splashes water on her face, cleaning herself the best that she can with limited supplies. 

When she gets back to the bedroom, Cassian is already dressed for the day, looking harried and rushed. She frowns, glancing at the clock. “It’s early – why the hell you running around like that?” 

“Draven wants to see you before my shift starts,” he corrects her, bustling out of the room. She follows, bare feet padding against the wooden floor; absently, she wishes for a thick pair of woolen socks – her extremities are always cold. “He wants to talk to you about your father.” 

_“‘Talk_ to me,’” Jyn mutters, stretching her arms over her head and absently scratching at her stomach; when she glances Cassian looking at the skin at her midriff, she smiles internally, pleased with herself. _It’s just a passing fancy._ “More like interrogates, yeah?” 

“I won’t let it get to that point,” he says firmly. “You haven’t done anything wrong; you don’t need an interrogation. Now, come on. You need to get dressed. I’ll make coffee while you get ready.” 

“Small problem, Captain,” she drawls, completely unperturbed by the time crunch. In her opinion, the longer that Draven had to wait for them, the better. “I only have a pair of leggings and a sports bra. Can we stop by my apartment first?” 

He glances at the clock, considers for a moment, then shakes his head. “Wear one of my sweatshirts – top drawer,” he says, all while not making eye contact with her. “We don’t have time to make stops; we’re running late as is. It’s my fault – I slept through my alarm.” 

Once she’d actually fallen asleep, last night had been the best night of sleep she’d had for a long time. By the lack of dark circles under his eyes and the ease of his movements, she suspects the same is true for him; even if it staying in bed for a little longer than normal would cause both of them to sleep through his alarm (she’s a light sleeper – it surprises her, too), to be late, she thinks it’s worth it. 

It’s a passing fancy, she reminds herself. Just a passing fancy. Nothing more. 

The coffee machine whirrs in the background as Jyn heads back to his bedroom, changing back into her workout clothes. When she rummages through his drawers, she pulls out the first hoodie she finds and shuts it right away; going through his things without him in the room makes her feel like she’s invading his privacy, even if the action is familiar to someone with her past. 

The sweatshirt is, like his shirt had been, quite large on her. The sleeves completely engulf her arms and the collar slides up and down her shoulders, threatening to expose the top part of her chest with the thick black straps of her bra clearly visible. The edges of the cuffs are frayed and slightly stained, but it’s clean and warm. It’s nice; she likes it. 

When she gets back to the kitchen, gym bag slung over her clothed shoulder, there’s a steaming cup of coffee is waiting for her on the side of the table she’s closest to. Cassian gives her a briefing glance – then takes a not-too-subtle second one, eyes widening at the sight of her in his sweatshirt – before saying, “Hope you like instant coffee.” 

She wraps her hands around her mug, warming her fingers. The first sip is piping hot, but she likes the burn against her tongue – and takes another, just because. “It’s good,” she tells him when she sees the expectant look on his face. “Better than what I usually whip up myself.” 

(Not like that’s very high praise but it _is_ good. She’ll give him that.)

His shoulders sag almost imperceptibly; she’s spent enough time around him to be able to notice small details in his behavior. “Good,” he replies, clearly relieved. “I thought I’d treat the both of us and break out the Starbucks Keurig cups.” 

It’s sweet in a kind of way that makes her heart ache, almost painfully so. The kindness makes her frown, eyebrows furrowing. Why would he waste something so expensive on a good-for-nothing ex-con? “You didn’t have to do that just for me.” 

“I wanted to.” The answer comes so easily that he doesn’t even think about it. The matter is settled only a few seconds after it had begun; she barely has time to blink her eyelids and have a cohesive thought about what kind of coffee she deserves. “I hate to cut this short, but we have to get going. If you don’t want to finish your coffee here, then you can bring it to the office – ” 

She cuts him off by chugging the rest of her mug. It scalds her throat as she swallows it down, hot and burning and blistering, but she’s always been quite good at doing shots; pouring coffee down her throat is much preferable when compared to some of the alcohol she’s consumed. It’s hardly an inconvenience, even if it does hurt for minutes after. 

Cassian blinks. “Or you can do that.” 

Raising the now empty cup in his direction, she asks, “Where do you want me to put this?” 

“In the sink is fine. I’ll clean up after work.” 

Instead of just leaving it there, she runs the faucet to clean up the last of the dregs at the very bottom, trying to ease the load of what he’ll have to do later. He’d offered a great kindness in letting her stay the night, the least she can do is tidy up after herself. Turning back to him, she sees the hint of a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Ready to go?” 

He grabs his messenger bag off of the back of a chair and slings it over a shoulder. At the door, they both slide on their shoes – Cassian putting on a pair much nicer than her gym shoes – and leave the apartment side-by-side. 

“Hope you don’t mind me driving again,” he says almost apologetically, as if she could really pass up a free ride, as if she could really consider him anything less than an excellent and careful driver. 

“Not at all,” Jyn replies, and ducks into the car. 

* * *

Cassian should have guessed that it would turn out this way, that they wouldn’t be conducting Jyn’s interview in Draven’s office; there aren’t any rooms in the office that would function as a space for questioning other than the ones that are used for criminals. 

“This is an interrogation room,” she says flatly, staring at the blank, sterile walls with a lone table in the middle, a bar in the center most commonly used for handcuffs. Three chairs – one on one side and two on the other, perfect for one suspect and two officers – are the only other things in the space. She whirls on Draven, facing him down despite being nearly a foot shorter: “Why the hell are you putting me in an interrogation room?” 

Draven is unperturbed by her callousness, steeling her with a stony look. “It’s the most convenient place to conduct our questioning,” he says dryly. “And might I remind you, Miss Erso, that you _are_ a criminal.” 

“And if I might remind _you,_ sir,” she sneers, upper lip curling over her teeth. “I’m an ex-criminal and walking free. Thanks to _your_ deal.” 

Before the two of them can really get into it (and Jyn starts throwing punches in the last place she should be), Cassian interjects, “Sir, is there any other place we could do the interview?”

Draven shakes his head. “This is where we will be doing it.” 

It’s not where Cassian would have chosen to talk, especially considering the negative effects it likely has on Jyn, but it does have its advantages: the interrogation cells are at the back of the office, making it a more discrete place to speak freely, and the walls are sound-proofed, meant to keep their conversation private. It’s a strategic location – he only wishes the circumstances of Jyn’s past were different. 

Jyn looks torn, glancing between the two of them and the small room warily. It’s been a long time since she’s looked at him like he’s the enemy, like it’s her against him, criminal versus detective. “I’ll go in there on two conditions.” 

“Unless you want to go back to prison, you don’t really have a choice. But please, Miss Erso, do go on. Perhaps I’ll indulge you.”

“The door stays open at all times and I don’t have to wear handcuffs.” 

“Those are reasonable,” Cassian’s quick to cut in, meeting Draven’s stare with a look of his own. He turns to her, one hand unconsciously going to her lower back to guide her into the room. “That’s fine, Jyn.” 

Instead of taking the lone chair, she snags one of the ones on the other side and Cassian sits next to her. Draven goes around the table by himself, a faintly amused look on his face. 

His superior pulls out a notepad and a small recorder, setting the latter in the center of the table. Jyn eyes it warily. “You’re recording this?” 

“All _‘interviews,’_ ” the word is said with immense scorn – someone less composed would have rolled their eyes, “are recorded for later transcription. Are you ready to begin, Miss Erso?” 

Jyn nods once. 

“Miss Erso,” he begins. “When was the last time you saw your father?” 

“Twenty years ago.” 

“You’ve had no contact with him since?” 

“No.” She doesn’t bring up the conversation she’d had on the phone with him two days ago. Cassian doesn’t say anything either – she’s in complete control here, and he won’t interrupt, even if he knows otherwise. He’d gone behind her back in telling Draven about her father; it’s only fair that she gets to pick and choose what she tells him. 

“Do you know anything about his current whereabouts?” 

Jyn hesitates. “A bit.” 

“Care to elaborate, Miss Erso?” 

“I know he’s still working at facility in Eadu,” she says slowly. “If I had to guess, he’d be living around that area. I don’t know. Like I said, I haven’t talked to him in two decades.” 

Despite not believing they could take him down, Draven switches the line of conversation to Krennic, seemingly satisfied with what Jyn’s told him about Galen. If Jyn can give him more information, maybe – just maybe – Draven will change mind about the odds of taking down someone much higher-up in the chain of command. “Tell me about how you know Orson Krennic. From what Andor has told me, I understand he was a large part of your childhood?” 

Cassian winces at the reminder that he’s the one who’d brought Jyn here, but she makes no note of that when she speaks again. 

“I used to call him ‘Uncle Orson,’” Jyn makes a face at that, rolling her eyes. “Back in the day, he and Mama and Papa were close. That all changed, of course, when Galen left the Empire. We had to move around a lot so he wouldn’t find us.” 

“He did this because he wanted to use your father’s intellect for his own gain.” It’s not a question.

“Yes.” Jyn swallows, then adds, “But I’ve always felt like it was more of an obsession. Even as a child, I knew that Krennic’s focus on my father was not. . .” she hesitates, looking for the right word, “Not strictly professional, I guess.” 

That’s a detail Jyn failed to mention to him. Cassian leans back in his chair thoughtfully, mulling that thought over. If they can somehow include Galen Erso in their plan, then they might be able to use Krennic’s infatuation to their advantage. Surely her father would want to keep her out of prison and do pretty much anything to keep her free; the only challenge would be convincing Jyn to have further communication with her father. He doesn’t want to force her into any situation she would be uncomfortable in. 

Daven pauses. “Have you heard of an experimental weapon called the Death Star?” 

Her face pales. Her throat works for a few seconds before saying, “I’ve only heard rumors.” 

“Such as?” 

“That it’s something that might be able to decimate a city in seconds,” she shrugs a shoulder. “But like I said – just rumors.” 

The temperature of the room plummets all of the sudden, leaving the hairs on his arms and back of his neck rising. Cassian’s heard a few whispers of his own throughout the past few months (from informants to fellow detectives alike), but nothing definite. However, the look on Draven’s face tells him he’s not going to like the news he’s about to hear; when his superior opens up his mouth to speak, his stomach drops in anticipation. Stars above, he really hopes that he’s wrong – 

“I have reasons to confirm that rumors of the Death Star are not exaggerated,” Draven says formally, a bit stiffly. Cassian can’t help but wonder just how many spies Draven has in the organization. “Now that you’ve given me official confirmation of your father’s continued work with the Empire, I believe the two are linked.” 

– and he won’t have to watch Jyn’s world shatter for the second time in a very short span of time. 

“What are you talking about.” It’s not a question, it’s a demand, an order. Jyn’s voice comes out flat and cold, and Cassian’s glad he’s not at the receiving end of her anger. 

“Are you aware, Miss Erso, what your father used to do for the Empire? What he likely still does?” 

“He wouldn’t hurt anyone, if that’s what you’re implying,” she responds flatly. 

“Whether he would or wouldn’t isn’t what we’re talking about here.” Draven leans forward slightly, placing his pen on the paper and folding his hands in front of him. “It’s that he has. You can go on and on about how your father wouldn’t hurt anyone, but that isn’t the truth.” 

“Well, then, he’s not doing it because he wants to!” Jyn exclaims, eyes narrowing. “Krennic must have something on him that’s keeping him there. Maybe – maybe _I_ was threatened.” Her face falls slightly as she murmurs, trailing off, “He always did want to. . .” 

Cassian places a comfortable hand on the back of Jyn’s chair – not touching her, only the metal spine. It’s the only thing he can do without raising Draven’s suspicion; from the other man’s angle, it merely looks like he’s stretching. This conversation clearly isn’t an easy one for her, so he wants to offer up all the silent support he can. 

“Again, his reasoning for what he did or didn’t do isn’t important. The Death Star _must_ be stopped before the Empire decides to use it against the general population. Think of what they’d be able to do with the threat of mass destruction. Blackmail, extortion, crime. It is imperative that we stop this before more lives are lost.” 

“If I’m understanding correctly, sir,” Cassian interrupts, giving Jyn a moment to compose herself before she lunges over the table to wrap her hands around Draven’s throat, “then to keep Erso out of prison, you want us to bring her father into custody.” 

“Any information you could get along the way would only improve your case,” he says to Jyn. “But yes. That is, essentially, it.” 

“And then what?” she asks hotly. “You lock my – Galen up for the rest of his life? What if he can’t give you anything? What about Krennic? _He’s_ the mastermind of this whole thing, I know it!” 

“If you want to remain free, then you will bring me your father,” Draven replies evenly as he stands, shutting down both the conversation and Jyn’s exclamations. “That’s it, Miss Erso.” 

Jyn stands too, slamming her hands down on the table. Cassian barely manages not to startle at the noise, watching her warily. “You wouldn’t need Galen if we got the plans ourselves – you wouldn’t need him if we got Krennic!” 

“All criminals need to atone for their crimes,” he intones as he walks out. “You should know this quite well, Jyn Erso.” 

As soon as he leaves the room, her shoulders sag, mouth twisting. With the weight of this conversation now added to the burden already weighing her down, he’s worried that this might be yet another breaking point. 

“Come on,” he whispers, standing up and guiding her with a gentle hand on her upper back. He looks pointedly to the camera in the corner of the room. “Not here. Not when they’ll be able to see you.” 

Without resistance, Jyn lets herself be led out of the interrogation cell. A nearby storage closet is the first thing that catches his eye, and he tugs her through the door without any second thoughts about the implications that might have to any viewers. 

When the door closes behind them, leaving them in darkness, her breathing hitches. “Hey, hey,” he soothe, assuming it’s the stress of the day getting to her. “You’re okay, you’re okay. You’ve just got to breathe, yeah?” 

Her hands lash out blindly, fisting into the material of her shirt. Thinking that she’s trying to match his heartbeat, he doesn’t move – only to stumble backwards when she pushes him back against the door. “Hey – ” 

“I’m – claustrophobic,” she grits out, labored breathing between her words. One of her hand thumps against his rib cage, hard enough to shake the surprise out of his brain. “Open the – fucking door.” 

His hand fumbles backwards until he finds the knob, and the two of them spill out into the hallway. He falls back with Jyn pressed up against his chest. His first instinct is to steady her by wrapping an arm around her waist, holding her closer to him. 

For a moment, the time slows. She blinks up at him, lips parting, exhaling softly. Her eyes close slightly, his grip on her tightens, and he tilts his head down the tiniest bit just to brush – 

It doesn’t occur to him how this might look compromising to an outside viewer until someone clears their throat behind them. 

“You two look cozy.” 

Jyn jumps away, eyes wide and panicked, shoving her hands underneath her armpits and wrapping her arms around her middle. Cassian is in a similar state of disarray, smoothing back his mussed hair and pulling at his collar. 

Thank goodness it’s only Kes. “We were just looking for – supplies,” Cassian tries, shooting a glance towards the ajar closet door. “There was a spill in the – ” 

Kes waves him off, a cheeky smile on his face. “I won’t say anything,” he replies with a wink. “God knows me and Shara used to sneak off and do the same thing.” 

“We’re not – ” 

“You’re Kes?” Jyn asks cryptically, cutting Cassian off. Why the hell does she care?

Kes blinks once, then bows with a flourish. “Kes Dameron, at your service. You’re Jyn Erso, I presume? It’s about time we – ” 

“I’ve met your wife,” she says shortly before brushing past him, shoulder knocking into his. She’s out the door and outside before either of them could say anything. 

“I’m sorry for her,” Cassian says, his feet already following in her path. “She’s had a rough day.” That’s an understatement, but it’s the best he can do. 

“You go, man,” Kes replies with a wave of his hand. That knowing smile is still plastered on his face. “I get it.” 

“Thanks, Kes. I appreciate it.” 

Despite his bum leg, Cassian breaks out into a jog until he reaches the parking lot. She stands near his car, fingers curled around the door handle. 

“Hey,” he says, slightly out of breath. “You just ran out of there. What’s up?” 

“I just. . .” she shakes her head, biting her lip. Her eyes dart everywhere except on him. “I want to go home.” 

That’s a request he can fulfill, even though it leaves him feeling a bit uneasy. Who is he to question her judgement, even if her apartment might not the best place for her right now? She’s her own person – she can make her own decisions. 

Once they’ve both in the car, he hesitates before putting the key in the ignition. Looking at her sideways, he can practically feel the tension radiating off of her small body; she’s slumped in her seat, arms crossed against her chest, glaring out the window as if the outside world has done her great harm. And it has – it really has. Life’s dealt her a shitty hand of cards, but he still has to admire her resilience. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly, not expecting her to respond with anything other than “I’m fine” but needing to say something to fill the silence. 

A sigh. When she finally speaks, her voice is high and slightly strained. “I don’t. . .no. I don’t think I am.” 

His hands curl around the steering wheel, not knowing how to respond to that. He asks tentatively, “Is there anything I can do?” 

Her eyes close, head leaning back into the chair. His shirt engulfs her tiny form, making her look smaller and more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her. “Will you be there?” 

“Where?” Does she want him to come back with her to apartment? Last night had been – well, he has no qualms about spending the evening with her again, but he doesn’t want to assume that she feels the same way. 

“When I meet my father,” she clarifies. “Will you come with me?” 

“Of course, Jyn,” he exhales. “Of course I’ll be there.” 

(He’d do anything for her, and that thought doesn’t even scare him. Anything she wants from him that he can give is hers.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> managed to get this chapter done last night! i don't have anything written for the next one, so i'm not sure when that'll come, but i do have an idea of what i want to write.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some unrequited pining on both sides for y'all!!

After Cassian drops Jyn back off at her apartment, he doesn’t see her for a few days nor does she contact him. To make sure that she’s all right, he reaches out a couple times through text, but only gets one word replies; at least she’s answering, even if he spends an absurd amount of time staring at the bright screen waiting for something more than “yes” or “no.” 

He’s not foolish enough to think that she returns his feelings for him, but he wants to help all the same. There’s no resentment against her, no anger. Unfortunately, he’s all too familiar with unrequited love. 

Just being in her life is enough. However she’ll have him, whatever she needs that he can give – it’s enough for him. 

(How do people meet Jyn Erso without being tugged into her orbit? How do they meet her and forget her weeks later?)

When the day of the meeting arrives, Jyn shows up to his house about an hour earlier than the time they’d agreed on. She insists on getting to the meeting point – Bodhi’s apartment – before her father does, and insists on taking his car instead of public transportation so “they’ll have a quick route out if all goes poorly.” 

Who is he to deny her anything?

When she insists on shoving a few crumpled dollar bills as payment for his help – alongside his freshly laundered clothes that she’d previously borrowed – he pushes them right back at her. They’re partners, he reminds her. He’s helping her because he _wants_ to, not for monetary gain. 

“But you keep driving me around!” she retorted stubbornly, in that typical Jyn fashion he’s come to both anticipate and adore. “I can’t afford a car, but I can at least give you _something_.” 

“You can pay me back some other way,” he tried again. “I don’t want your money, Jyn.” 

That she considered, glancing up and down his form before nodding slowly. “Some other way,” she repeated. “All right. I’m holding you to that.” 

He could only wonder what she had planned for that.

That had been before the long drive to Bodhi’s flat, made longer by the anxieties in both of their stomachs and the anticipation of the next few hours. There’s something extra on his mind, though, a concern that Jyn has no knowledge of. He hadn’t known how to tell her of Draven’s extra orders, and since he isn’t going to follow through on them, she doesn’t need the extra stress. 

_(“Andor. A word.”_

_Cassian pauses before he goes out the door to the precinct, hiking his bag higher up on his shoulder and turning his head ever so slightly, a suspicious glint to his eye that shouldn’t be sent in the direction of his superior officer. “If this is about the meeting with Erso tomorrow. . .” he starts, trailing off when Draven shakes his head._

_A wave of relief passes over him at that. It had been a struggle to convince his boss that they wouldn’t need back-up. More people, especially ones Jyn isn’t comfortable with, will only make the situation more volatile. From what he’s seen, she’s close enough to a mental break without the added stress of unfamiliar faces._

_“You’re a good man, Andor.” Draven pauses, a frown tugging at his lips. The praise is uncommon from him, the uncomfortableness of his body language making that all the more apparent. “You know that, right?”_

_His brows furrow together, questioning, “Sir?”_

_Draven straightens, hands lacing behind his back. “I have orders. Ones that you won’t like.”_

_Cassian turns fully then, facing the other man with a clear face void of expression. There’s no questioning his loyalty – he would do anything for the cause, for justice – but the other man’s words make him slightly nervous. Working with Jyn has taught him that there should be limits of what’s asked of him; if he blindly followed everything he’d been told to do, he never would have gotten to know the intelligent, cunning ex-con that he’s spent so much time with already._

_“Tell me.” Belatedly, he adds, “sir.”_

_“If Galen Erso does not come willingly – which I do not think will be the case, but we need to plan accordingly – then I need you to take care of him for good. The Death Star is not something we can allow to be finished, and Erso is the only one who can do that. You understand where I’m coming from, right, Andor?”_

_His mind short circuits. His mouth opens, then closes, making him gape like a fish. Is he seriously asking him to –_

_“Andor?” Draven’s tone is sharp._

_“Yes, I. . .” his throat is dry, brain still melting. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Yes, I understand, sir.”_

_Just because he understands the order doesn’t mean he likes it. Just because he understands doesn’t mean he’ll go through with it. Even if Galen won’t come willingly, he’s not going to kill Jyn’s father in front of her. They’ll find another way._

_As Draven nods and walks away, seemingly satisfied, Cassian burns. He’s no less loyal, just has different allegiances. A person rather than a cause._

_He believes in Jyn Erso.)_

When they pull up to Bodhi’s apartment, he cuts the engine. The two of them sit in silence, both looking at the building looming in front of her. He knows they’re thinking of the same thing, of a similar meeting that had happened in the same place reuniting two lost family members – only this one has larger consequences if it goes poorly. 

(Best case scenario, Galen wants to help them. Worst case, he’ll be dragged back to the department and his life will be traded for Jyn’s, and the plans set against Krennic will be closed.

The scenario he doesn’t want to think about is Jyn going back to Wobani. The thought of her returning to the shell of the woman he’d first met all those months ago makes him want to throw up. He’ll do anything to prevent that.)

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Jyn murmurs, jolting Cassian out of his own thoughts. He turns his head to look her way. “I shouldn’t be nervous. Galen – he means _nothing_ to me.” 

That’s a lie. Maybe someone who doesn’t know her as well as he does would believe her vehemency, but he knows better. She’s terrified and only just hiding that behind a wall of calm, collected anger.

“That’s okay,” he soothes gently, not sure how to approach this. He’s never been good at comforting others (consequently, not being good at receiving it, either). “You – being here to see him after all this time – that is brave enough.” 

She makes a face, one that tells him she doesn’t believe a word out of his mouth, but argues no further. A few more seconds pass before she says, “I want to go inside before they get here.” 

A tactician’s mind, his Jyn. Suspecting that she wants to map out her brother’s tiny apartment despite it not be unfamiliar to her, he nods his agreement. “All right. Do you want company?” 

He feels the need to ask, to get her consent about his presence. Though she’d expressed her wishes to have him with her quite clearly, he doesn’t want to assume anything. Matters with family are often delicate, and he doesn’t want to disturb what might be a tentative peace with his outsider’s opinions. 

“I can’t – ” she pauses, shaking her head in frustration. The words she’d been meaning to say are swallowed down – oh, how he wishes that he could read minds and know exactly what she’s thinking. “Yeah. You can come with me.” 

It’s a clear brush off, but he gets what’s underlying her seemingly nonchalance; from what he’s seen, she’s basically incapable of asking for help – this is the best she can do to not seen weak. A small smile touches his lips as he opens his door and gets out of the car, Jyn following suit. “Let’s go on up, then.” 

They enter the building using a key that Bodhi had given her, but when they get to his door, she pulls out a pair of lock picks instead. “I need to distract myself,” she tells him at his incredulously look, sliding them into the keyhole. “Bodhi knows. It’s not technically a crime.” 

“Don’t act like I’m going to arrest you,” Cassian retorts, trying to keep his lips pressed into a frown but failing miserably. 

She shrugs a shoulder, standing up from her crouch when the lock clicks open, managing to tease despite everything, “You wouldn’t. I’ve got you wrapped around my little finger, Andor.” 

There’s no way he can deny that because it’s absolutely true. “Yeah, well,” he mutters gruffly. “Don’t abuse your power, Erso.” 

She looks shocked at his response, blinking a couple times as she gauges his sincerity, then rolls her eyes and pushes open the door. Unable to respond back to his statement quickly enough with a snarky comment of her own (especially not when he’s just told her _that_ ), she shoots back a half-hearted, “You’re ridiculous.” 

She stalks into the room with the grace of a big cat, lethal and beautiful. He follows a few steps behind as he’s already hopelessly embarrassed himself enough for one day. Chewing on his bottom lip, he considers her, then asks, “Now what?” 

Humming thoughtfully, she plops down on the couch and tosses her thankfully clean boots up onto the coffee table. “Now we wait,” she says, patting the open seat next to her and leaning forward to grab the remote, flicking on the TV with the push of a button. “C’mon, Andor. I’ll even let you pick the show.” 

(True to her word, Jyn doesn’t say anything when he flips on a news channel. . .at least, she doesn’t say anything for two minutes. Then, she’s wrestling the remote out of his hands, complaining that she hadn’t expected him to put on something so _boring_ and switches to boxing. 

When she settles back down, the two of them sit much closer than before. Thighs touching, shoulders pressed to each other, hands so close it would barely be a hardship to reach over and tangle their fingers together. Jyn doesn’t move away so he doesn’t either, content to enjoy her warmth for as long as she’ll let him.)

* * *

Galen enters the room with little fanfare.

Though she’d gotten a warning text from Bodhi a few minutes ago, she’d been expecting more than just a quiet knock to alert her of their presence and the door barely opening for the pair to slip in. There’s no guns or soldiers or shouting – nothing of that sort. Instead, she’s half-standing from her spot on the couch and staring at the shell of the man she used to call her father. 

The years have not been kind to Galen Erso. It’s not that she doesn’t recognize him, but that he looks so weary and rundown that she almost mistakes him for someone else. He’s dressed nicely, in what she believes must be a subtle attempt to impress her had she not figured it out immediately – but there’s lines on his face that she hasn’t seen before, bags under his eyes that are dark and puffy, and general gauntness and wanness to his complexion reminds her all too much of her own reflection years ago when she hadn’t been eating nor sleeping properly. 

Despite not wanting to, she feels sympathy for this man. He looks lost even in the company of his own family. The sight of him has her feeling untethered, too; she unconsciously reaches for Cassian’s arm to keep herself up, using touch to keep herself grounded in reality. Ever since her mother’s death and her father leaving with Krennic, she hasn’t bothered to check in with him; it’s been two decades since she’s last seen his photo – though that’s not to say she hasn’t considered searching him up on the Internet in the years between. 

For one brief moment, the stars in her eyes distract her from the truth of the occasion. 

The peace shatters when her father takes a step forward, one hand raising in her direction as if he can’t believe she’s real. “St–Jyn? It’s been so long.” 

All at once it comes back. The blood roaring in her ears is enough to block out the way Bodhi says, “Galen, we talked about this.” It’s enough to miss how Cassian takes a protective step forward, the way he cautiously interrupts with raised hands and a spoken, “Mr. Erso?” 

She doesn’t hear any of that, eyes unseeing of the scene currently unfolding. Bodhi tugs Galen back with a gentle hand – 

_“Oh, look! Here’s Lyra, back from the dead. It’s a miracle.”_

– Cassian turns back to her, mouth moving but no sound coming out – 

_She crouches down on the wet pavement, hiding behind a group of dumpsters overlooking the alleyway. Mama told her to run, but she doesn’t want to leave without her. Papa said they were supposed to go together._

_Two popping sounds in sharp succession. Pop! Pop! They’re so loud she nearly whimpers, letting go of Stormy to cover her ears with her hands._

_Jyn watches as her mother’s body falls to the ground – maybe she’s only sleeping? – before she turns and runs. The only thing that even suggests a child had been hiding there is an old stuffed animal, found by Krennic’s men minutes later._

– Jyn blinks back to herself, shaking the haziness out of her mind. All three men look at her, clearly concerned, but she can’t get a good look at Galen before Bodhi and Cassian begin to crowd her personal space. “What? Did you say something?” 

“I asked,” Cassian starts furtively, sending a not-so-subtle look towards Bodhi that’s easy to discern as concerning, “if you were okay.” 

Bodhi’s voice is much more hushed. “I know this is a lot for you – to take in, but – ” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she remarks with a false sense of bravado. When she tries to smile, her muscles contract awkwardly, making it look more like a grimace. “I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with.” _Liar, liar, liar._

What happens next is an awkward dance as the four struggle to seat themselves in a way that would be most comfortable for all. The arrangement ends up with Galen and Bodhi in separate armchairs, Cassian and Jyn on the couch. Unable to sit down for very long, however, she gets up and lingers behind her partner, resisting the urge to bolt out the door. 

Galen clears his throat. “On the drive over here, Bodhi explained what was going on. You need my help to take down Krennic, correct?” 

He doesn’t mention the reason why she needs the help in the first place, but she knows that he knows. Shame rises up in her throat, heavy and acidic. What does he think of having a criminal for a daughter? Maybe he’s wondering where it all went wrong, how she’d turned out this way. In this moment, she’s not angry – she’s ashamed to have the past that she’s had. 

Her fingers curl into the back of the sofa, shoulders hunched inward, head hanging low. In the past few weeks, she’s never really hated herself as she does now. 

Cassian’s back brushes against her hands as he straightens; nothing he does is accidental, and the small touch brings her a modicum of comfort. It’s incidents like these that she wonders how he’s so completely figured her out, knows her so well that neither of them has to speak or move or act for a silent communication to pass between them. 

It’s scary, letting someone in like that. But it – and even she has to admit this – it feels nice, too. 

“Yes, sir,” Cassian says smoothly. “My name is Captain Cassian Andor. I work with Coruscant P.D. I’ve been helping your daughter investigate Krennic.” 

“There’s no need to call me ‘sir,’ Captain Andor.” Galen leans forward, interest sparking in his eyes. “You’re with the police, eh? I take it they know about this meeting, then.” 

“Then I must insist you call me Cassian, Mr. Erso. As for the police. . .” he trails off, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, they do. This operation is highly classified, but there are people in the department who know all the details. You’re a smart man, Mr. Erso. I’m sure you have your suspicions as to what this may be about.” 

“I have an idea, yes.” Her father looks tentative, slightly wary. 

Unable to take it any longer, Jyn cuts to the chase. “What he’s saying is that we know that you’re working on the Death Star. If you can’t help us with Krennic, then – ” She stops, unable to continue and turns her back, jaw working angrily. Despite everything, thinking about her father going to jail in her stead has her stomach rolling. She can’t justify someone else taking the fall for her, even if he’s as guilty (if not more) as she is. 

“It’s my head on the line, isn’t it?” Galen’s voice is wry. 

“There are three options,” Cassian says. “The ideal one is getting enough evidence to lock Krennic up and getting a plea deal to keep you out of prison. If that doesn’t work, then it’s either you or Jyn who gets locked up.” 

“In my eyes, there are only two,” Galen replies solemnly. “I will not let my daughter go back to prison if I have a choice in the matter.” 

She can’t take it anymore. Abruptly, she turns on her heel and heads to the kitchen, unable to listen to her estranged father plan to sacrifice himself for her. This isn’t why she’d planned the meeting, this isn’t what she’d wanted him for. What they need from him is information, not this martyr bullshit. 

“We don’t intend to let that happen. . .” Cassian’s voice trails off, and by some silent communication, Bodhi joins her a few seconds later. 

“I can’t do this, Bo,” she says hoarsely, bowing her head and gripping the table with a white-knuckled grip. Her hair falls around her face like a curtain. “I thought I was strong enough, but I’m _not._ ” 

“Me and Cassian can take care of this,” he tells her, an awkward hand trying to ease some of the tension in her stiff shoulders. “You, you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be.” 

At that, she lets out a rough chuckle. She doesn’t _want_ to be here, yes, but she feels like she _has_ to. This is her father, her fate that they’re talking about, her plan that she’d come up with and has been implementing these past few weeks. She knows that Bodhi and Cassian are more than capable, but this is – she has to be – 

Jyn sighs, pushing back her hair. “I don’t think it works that way.” 

“Why not? Cassian’s got his detective face on. He can ask Galen all of the questions and I’ll be there to – to, for moral support.” 

She raises a brow. “Moral support for who?” 

“Either of them, I suppose,” he drums his fingers on the table. “I could be moral support for you. We could leave and get, I don’t know. Drinks? Is it too early to drink? Or, wait – you’re not drinking anymore, right? Uh, coffee? Do you do caffeine or – ?” 

His enthusiasm makes her huff out a laugh, though the sound that comes out of her mouth sounds more like she’s choking. “You don’t have to do any of that. I’ll be fine in a minute or two, then we can get back into it.” 

The thought of having to return, even if it’s just to stand up against the wall and listen, has her swallowing back a wave of nausea. She closes her eyes and breathes out through her nose until there’s no air left in her lungs. 

“I don’t think you’re fine,” her brother says gently. “And you don’t – have to be, you know? I’m here, Cassian’s here. . .” he lets out a breath similar to her own, trying to smile as he does. “So if you need to. . .” 

She doesn’t know what she needs to do, but she knows what she can’t. And right now, she’s not allowing herself to break. 

“We should get back in there,” she replies, ignoring the look on his face in favor of staring right over his shoulder. Her voice is flat, almost monotone. “Let’s just get this over with.” 

“Jyn. . .” 

“Don’t, Bo.” This isn’t a matter she can be talked out of; in her mind, there’s no good reason why she can’t be there. 

There’s nothing he can do to stop her – any hand he places on her arm will be shrugged off, any words that he tries to use to convince her will be met with unhearing ears. She stalks back into the room like a fury scorned, choosing anger as her shield to prevent the wave of panic rising up inside of her. 

At the sudden intrusion, Galen and Cassian are startled out of their conversation. While she doesn’t know what they had been speaking about – she hopes it’s been all business, nothing involving her personal life – but she’s eager for them to get back to it. “What?” she scowls, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “Get back to it, yeah?” 

Another one of those _looks_ pass between Bodhi and Cassian as her brother reenters the room; it’s apparently enough for Cassian to continue what they’d been talking about before her interruption. He turns back to her father, but his body is still angled in her direction, ready to hop up and help if she needs anything from him. “Right. You were telling me about Krennic’s daily work schedule.” 

She doesn’t like the worried look in Galen’s eyes, so she pointedly doesn’t look at it, cheeks reddening with all the concern that’s being directed her way. For someone who’s lived primarily depending on herself to get by, letting others in isn’t easy; she’s not used to other people caring. 

The next thirty or so minutes pass relatively quickly. This is likely because she doesn’t hear most of it, the words passing through her brain and disappearing like puffs of smoke. When she blinks to clear her head, Cassian’s standing in front of her, carefully blocking the view of her father from her gaze but not blocking her into the wall. 

“Did we – ” she swallows, trying to soothe her dry throat. “Did we get what we needed?” 

“We did,” Cassian nods, peering down at her with a perceptive eye. If she strains her ears, she can hear the soft sounds of conversation near the door. 

He opens his mouth to say something else, but she cuts him off before he can. “Before you ask, I’m _fine_.” 

It’s clear that he doesn’t believe her, but there’s nothing he can do to get her to admit otherwise; when feeling this vulnerable, she doesn’t know how to do anything else but clamp down on her feelings and not let up. 

“Do you want to say goodbye to your father?” 

_That man is not my father!_ The spitting insult is on the tip of her tongue, more reflex than anything, but she just manages to swallow it back. More than anything, she just wants this to be over. “No.” 

“All right,” he says gently. “I’ll let Bodhi know and then I’ll drive you home, okay?” 

Going back to her apartment – her _booze-less_ apartment, no less – isn’t ideal, but when she makes a face at that suggestion, his back is already turned. Ah, well – the bar that she works at is relatively close by to where she lives. Maybe she’ll head over there once Cassian leaves for something to take the edge off. 

She forces her feet to move over to the couch she’d been sitting in previously, nearly falling back onto the cushions in her attempt to flop down carelessly. It feels good to sink into the comfortable material. For a second, she closes her eyes and pretends that she’s someone else. 

“You ready?” A voice above her asks. Liana – Jyn blinks up to see Cassian standing over her, arms held out in a non threatening way. The fluorescent ceiling lights filtering out around his head look like a halo spread out past his hair. In this moment, Cassian Andor looks like an angel. 

God knows she could really use a miracle right about now. 

“Yeah,” she replies absently, squinting up at him, almost blinded by his seemingly holy appearance. “Just give me a minute.” 

She knows Cassian just about as well as he knows her; the tiniest quirk of the corners of his lips reads more like a full-blown smile in her eyes. His eyes are so, so warm. “You okay down there?” 

Shrugging a shoulder, she answers his question with an invitation of her own, “Sit with me for a little?” 

“Sure.” 

When he relaxes down next to her, he chooses to sit in the middle of the couch; even though there’s plenty of space on the other side, he doesn’t move away. 

If her head falls a little to the side to rest on his shoulder, well, who can blame her for indulging a bit? What she can’t fathom, however – no matter how many ways her mind tries to wrap its way around it – is the arm that he wraps around her seconds later, pulling her closer to him. 

_It’s just a passing fancy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here's a sneak preview of the next chapter's plot](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6gBu2Zd7Bc)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want to preface this chapter with a small note: i am aware there is an unbalanced power dynamic between cassian and jyn because he's "technically" her handler. i tried to reduce this as much as possible, especially now that they've taken the next step forward. jyn doesn't think of cassian as anything except her partner and hasn't thought of him as her boss in a long time (that role has been given to draven). both are consenting individuals and jyn is in no way being coerced. despite that, the dynamic remains and i wanted to make a note of that before you got into the chapter.
> 
> on we go!

Jyn wakes to the feeling of a blade being pressed to her neck. 

“Don’t move or I’ll slit your throat,” an unfamiliar voice rasps from the darkness of her bedroom. As she wakes, blinking rapidly to clear the film of sleep from her eyes, she begins to make out someone else’s shape hovering over her while she lays on her back, unmoving. “You’ve been ratting us out, you _bitch.”_

When she swallows, throat moving underneath the knife, she can feel the cut of the steel against her vulnerable skin. The tiny pushback has consequences; a cut and a bead of blood bubbles up in a thin line on her throat. New, recently sharpened, likely hasn’t been used much. It’s fitting for a Partisan, especially one that isn’t high up in the chain of commands. Fresh recruits don’t get good gear until they’ve proven their worth – this feels more like an extremely sharp kitchen knife, not a blade for a soldier like the ones she remembers carrying. 

(Doesn’t mean it can’t do damage.)

So maybe this is one of those tests. Based on the current circumstances – the insults, the talking instead of killing right away – she assumes this would-be assassin is a newbie. Stars know that Jyn had to do her fair share even as Saw’s adopted daughter, but she’d never been sent out to assassinate anyone in cold blood; that’s not to say that it doesn’t happen, merely other ways to show loyalty to the cause. Either times are tough enough that there’s no other jobs or this particular newbie is overeager and confident. Either way, she’ll be using that to her advantage. 

She doesn’t move into action right away, deciding to lay still as ordered and play along until a better opening arises. The nearest weapon is on her nightstand. She’s grown complacent in the weeks that she’s been living here – this is the first attack she’s experienced thus far – and given up sleeping with a blade underneath her pillow. _Stupid._ She’s never safe – she should know that by now. Working with the police has made her soft. 

Though she’s been lulled into a false sense of security, this isn’t surprising. In the year that followed Saw’s abandonment, people had came after her in droves, eager to get a piece of the traitor that had left them. It’s been a long time since someone’s come after her like this, but she hasn’t truly let her guard down. Now that Saw’s dead, someone’s likely figured that they need to clean up all loose ends; it would make sense to take Jyn out of the picture. 

“Now,” the Partisan hisses, pressing the blade harder against her throat. Her breathing comes shallower now to prevent further damage. If she moves even the tiniest bit, the knife will dig further into her skin. “You’re going to tell me what you’ve told the police so far and then I’m going to kill you.” 

Despite her best efforts, that gets a reaction out of her normally calm face. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, eyebrows twitching up. At her side underneath the blanket, her fingers tap a rhythm against her thigh. For a second, she’s dumbfounded as to how the news of her betrayal has reached the outside world, but then a realization hits her. 

She hasn’t exactly been subtle lately, especially not when she’s getting a ride home from Cassian every week now. Hell, she hasn’t even tried to hide her association with him. Partisans _know_ cops – not every one, but she still remembers the faces of most of the officers in the Jedha department when she’d been a part of the gang. 

Though Cassian normally keeps to the shadows, especially after his accident, his badge and gun are just as noticeable as anyone else’s when he’s out on the job. Someone would have recognized his affiliation by now, and word travels fast through the criminal underground. 

(And now that she’s mulling this over, she’s surprised an attack like this one hasn’t happened sooner. The Partisans are clearly slipping.) 

“Well?” he demands again, becoming more irritated with her lack of compliance. “Are you going to tell me or not?” 

“Kinda hard when there’s a knife pressed to my neck,” she retorts, tilting her head back farther on the pillow. “You let up a little, I’ll start talking.” 

A pause. She can see the gears moving in the rookie’s head, can almost see the moment that he decides that to lift some of the weight off of the blade. Jyn grins, feral and baring teeth, then in one swift movement slips her hands underneath the knife and pushes upward, knocking him off balance with the unsuspected motion and effectively neutralizing the threat of her throat being slit. 

The sharp weapon slices into her palms when she pushes it away, but she’s quick enough to stop it from cutting all the way through. With blood dripping down her arms, she surges up and knocks the knife out of the Partisan’s hands, her upward moment sending her barreling out of bed. Once the threat of being stabbed is gone, she goes low and tackles him by throwing her body toward his middle, knocking him to the ground with the help of gravity. 

Adrenaline rushes through her veins. She doesn’t even feel the pain in her hands as she scrambles up into a sitting position and straddles her attacker, pinning his hands up against his head as he recovers from the impact with her floor. Even as he struggles against her grip, she keeps strong, eyes darting around the room for something she can use to keep him down until the police come. She doesn’t want to kill him – she’s not a killer, not when she doesn’t have to be – so instead of grabbing the knife that had almost spilled all her blood from her body, she reaches for a nearby book and slams it once, then twice against the Partisan’s head, leaving him out cold underneath her. 

(It’s a self-help manual – the irony of _that_ particular choice won’t hit until later.)

She remains where she is for a few seconds, book in hand, chest heaving. After a beat, her weapon of choice drops down to the floor with a _thump_ , the cover and pages bloodied from her injuries. The sound jolts her out of her head, out of the lull of violence she’s entered. She rolls off her attacker’s body and scrambles to the side, desperately checking his neck for a pulse. 

It’s there. It’s weak and barely pulsing, but it’s a sign of life. Relieved that she hasn’t accidentally killed someone – she knows what she’s doing but it’s been so long since she’s been in prison and had a one-on-one fight like this – she sags back against the wall and unthinkingly wipes her hands against her bare thighs. 

Immediately, a flash of pain has her barely stifling a moan in the back of her throat, biting down on her tongue at the last moment. Even by herself, she can’t let any vulnerability show. It’s hard to tell exactly what the damage is to her hands with all the blood leaking out of them; every time she tries to wipe it away with the hem of her thin tank-top, more bubbles up from the surface, leaving her skin raw and chapped. Based on the sharpness of the knife alone, it’s likely the wounds are deep; she can only hope they haven’t sliced through her muscle straight down to the bone. 

There’s one way to check. Cursing all the way through it, she wiggles her fingers, squeezes her hands into fists. Everything seems to work properly, though the agony that results from it leaves black spots dancing in front of her eyes, forcing her to take deep, even breaths until it passes.

“Okay,” she mutters to herself, trying to turn her pain into a weapon, into a laser sharp focus. “Okay, Jyn. You’ve got to tie up their hands then grab your phone and make a call. That’s it.”

Certainly easier said than done. 

One of her scarves lies on the ground near her laundry basket; she’d tried to throw it in like a three pointer but missed tragically. From where she’s sitting, it’s a bit of a stretch, just able to touch the cheap material with the tips of her fingertips. She shuffles toward it on her knees and grabs it without too much strain. The task of tying it around an unconscious person’s wrists without the full mobility of her hands poses more of a challenge, but she manages to get it done without too much swearing. The bindings are loose and probably won’t hold when pulled at in a struggle, but it’s the best she can do for now, hoping that he doesn’t wake up until the police arrives.

Onto phase two. 

Cursing under her breath, she stands and wobbles, nearly losing her balance – whether it’s from blood loss or the sudden adrenaline drip, she can’t tell. “Fuck,” she mutters, making it to her nightstand and grabbing her cellphone. When she sees that it’s on two percent, she swears again, hating her current tendency to wait to plug in her mobile phone until it’s dead. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

Her fingers move fast as she struggles to unlock it as quickly as she can. There’s only enough charge for one phone call – she knows exactly who she’s going to use it on. 

“Cassian?” 

_“Hey, hey – Jyn? Mm, it’s like three in the morning. . .”_

“I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important,” Jyn says. “Just – I was attacked. I’ve got a – ” 

“Mierda _, Jyn!”_ The haziness of waking up from a deep slumber is gone as soon as she says those words, effectively getting his attention with her voice alone. _“You were attacked? Are you all right?”_

She grits her teeth against the pain. Not only that, but blood is going to be a bitch to get out of all the little, tiny cracks in her glass touchscreen. “My phone is going to die,” she manages to spit out. “There’s an unconscious Partisan on my floor. Send someone.” 

_“Jyn, are you – ”_

The call is cut off, his voice disappearing abruptly. She brings her phone back down from her ear, swearing at the black screen. Pushing the power button on and off multiple times does nothing, and all she’s left staring at is the reflection of her face backlit by the moonlight filtering in from her window. 

She tosses her phone to the side, watching it skitter across the floorboards and land amongst the drops of her blood falling onto the wood. Before her knees give out entirely, she collapses heavily back onto her bed, the conversation with Cassian whirring in her mind. 

She could have – maybe _should_ have – called the police directly by dialing 911. All the same, her fingers moved unconsciously to his name and she called him without a second thought. She doesn’t trust law enforcement, but she trusts Cassian. He’s not like the others – he listens, doesn’t judge or assume someone’s guilty based on their criminal history. He’s by no means the perfect cop, but he’s the best out of all of ‘em here on Coruscant. 

(Maybe it’s not just a passing fancy for her. Maybe it’s more. 

And _maybe_ she’s just delirious from the blood loss.) 

Now that her hands are no longer occupied by her phone, she grabs her comforter and wraps it around her palms, applying pressure to her wounds. It’s already stained – though this is the first time she’s gotten blood on it – so she absently makes a note to soak it in cold water to get the worst of the damage out. She can’t afford to get a new one, so this blanket will have to last as long as possible; she’d prefer it not to get dirty until it’s a lot older. 

There’s a banging echoing through the hallways of her apartment. Since the pain makes her hazy, she presses harder on the makeshift wrappings around her hands to snap her out of it. She hopes it’s Cassian and not one of her neighbors; loud noises in the middle of the night aren’t uncommon in this part of town, but she doesn’t want to have to explain the blood and the obvious signs of a struggle. 

The banging on her door continues, the sound of her name being called muffled through the thick wood of her door. The voice sounds familiar enough where she lurches to her feet and stumbles up to the front entrance-way. 

“–yn? Are you in there? If you don’t respond in two seconds, I’m going to break down this door!” 

“Here,” she says, reaching up to start unlatching the multiple locks bolting her apartment closed. Curling her palms and moving her fingers really fucking hurts; with all the blood that’s being smeared around, it’s difficult to get a good grip on the metal and actually disengage it. She has a lot of protection, but it shouldn’t take her this long to get the damn door open – it usually doesn’t. “Just give me a second – _there._ ” 

The final latch clicks free. Immediately, he pushes into her apartment, sending her reeling back to avoid being hit in the face by the door. His hands are all over her before he’s even fully inside, palms cupping her cheeks, fingers roving down her arms and side in search of injuries. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you? I’ve got a team coming as soon as possible, it should be a couple more minutes before they get here.” 

“I’m – _ah_ – I’m fine,” she tries, but it’s too late. By her muffled note of pain, he’s found the root of the problem and zoomed in on the wounds on her palms, making a low sound of concern in the back of his throat. She already knows what he’s going to say before he does. “Cassian – ” 

“You are not fine,” he snaps, curling his fingers around her wrists and lifting her hands closer up to his gaze for a better inspection. ”What the hell happened? These look _deep,_ Jyn. I think you’re going to need stitches.” 

“Had to get the knife off of my neck.” Her answer is absent, not fully there. With his focus occupied, she takes a moment to study his face without distraction. He looks more tired than usual, pain showing in the lines running up and down his cheeks. She feels a pang of regret to have dragged him out of his bed at such an early hour, but she hadn’t known who else to call. “I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

“You’re – ” his mouth opens, blubbering like a fish. As if the small cuts across her hands are more important than his mental and physical well-being, he looks at her incredulously. “Jyn – you – ” 

And then he surges forward to kiss her. 

As soon as his lips touch hers, all thoughts leave her mind. She doesn’t even have the grace to kiss him back until he starts to pull away, apologies on the tip of his tongue. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I should have asked first.” 

“No, I. . .” Her gaze is drawn to his mouth, her tongue darts out to lick her own lips unconsciously. The words feel clumsy coming out; she’s more distracted by the man standing in front of her. “I – liked it.” 

“Can I. . .?” He motions in between them, voice dropping an octave. 

_“Please.”_

Damn her injured hands, she tugs him forward despite the pain and threads her fingers in his silky hair to bring him back down to her level, meeting his gentle exploration with an aggressive intensity unique to her. 

She doesn’t know how to do romance or love, but she understands kissing. She understands fucking too, but isn’t going to get ahead of herself. There are other sensations to focus on, like the way his body feels pressed up against her and the desperate noises he’s making in the back of his throat. Pride and arousal thrum through her body – she’s the one causing him to make those noises, and those are ones she wants to hear more of. 

Her nails scratch against his scalp and he moans, opening up his mouth to her and giving her access. Her skin is on fire. She slips her tongue into his mouth and wedges a thigh between his leg, pushing him backwards and fully intending to _ravish_ him up against the wall – 

_“Jyn Erso! Open up! This is the police!”_

The shout has the weight of a gunshot in her quiet apartment; she wrenches herself away from him like his touch is poison (it burns, but in the best possible way). She wraps her arms around herself, the pain returning now that she doesn’t have Cassian’s affection to drive it away. He looks just as disoriented – messy hair, breathing heavily, bruised and bitten lips. 

Another burst of pride in her chest. _She’s_ done that to him. 

“I’ll, uh – ” he says, clearly flustered. “I’ll get the door. You just – keep pressure on your hands. I can. . .” 

She puts him out of his misery, nodding once. Pressing her palms flat against her ribs to try to stem the bleeding, she responds, “Yeah. That’s fine.” 

When he turns to get the door, she notices the red streaking up and down his cheeks, the dark glint in his hair illuminated by the moonlight. “Wait! You’ve got – ” she raises a hand sheepishly, then mimes wiping her face, “You should get that off of you before you let cops in.” 

“Right!” he says, turning back to her and rubbing his sweatshirt sleeve onto his face. She takes a tentative step forward, painfully obvious “Did I get it all?” 

“You missed a spot,” she murmurs, licking her finger and reaching up to his cheek. “Can I?” 

He swallows, throat bobbing. “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.” 

(She thinks he would agree to anything she asked of him.)

She’s going to kiss him again. She’s so close to him now, painfully aware that she’s only wearing a thin tank top and a pair of shorts, skin pebbling in the cold night air. Her knuckles brush against his cheekbone, lingering on his skin after she’s gotten the blood off of his face. “I got it.” 

His voice is husky when he says, “Thank you, Jyn.” 

(The sound of her name on his lips is made so much better now that she knows what he tastes like.)

She’s going to kiss him, and –

The door bursts in. 

When she pulls apart from this time, she’s quicker to compose herself now that there’s strangers in her apartment. It’s no one she recognizes, not Kay or Kes or Draven. When she glances at Cassian in confused, he mouths, _“Night shift.”_

That explains the boorish way they’ve entered her house. Her lip curls back in derision. “Officers,” she says coolly, tilting her head to the side slightly. “There’s a body on the floor of my bedroom. It’s that way.” After a beat, she amends with a wince, “An _alive_ one. He’s alive, just unconscious.” 

The two men look at Cassian in deference, choosing not to listen to the ex-con who isn’t actually a criminal anymore – her partner nods. “You two take care of the perp,” he says. “I’ll take care of Jyn – of Erso’s hands. I have medical training.” 

As she shoots him a look – because _all_ cops have medical training – he grabs the crook of her elbow and gently leads her away from her front door. “Where’s your first-aid kit?” 

“I don’t want them here unsupervised,” she tells him, shaking off his grip. It’s natural for a criminal to be suspicious of cops, especially ones who are about to go poking through her things. Her home is one of her only safe havens within the city, and she won’t let the law interfere with that. 

“They’re just here to arrest your attacker and take him away,” he protests, trailing after her. “Your hands need attention first.” 

“I don’t want them here unsupervised,” she repeats, ending the matter. The thought alone of strangers in her room makes her grit her teeth.

Cassian pinches the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb as if he can ward off her stubbornness along with his impending headache. “At least let me get some bandages to put pressure on the cuts.” 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she says absently, following the officers to her bedroom and leans against the doorway. “They’re in the bathroom. I trust you.” 

He’s back in a minute, a roll of linen wraps spilling out from his hands. When she goes to take them from him, he shakes his head, not letting her. “I’ll do it,” he murmurs. “Let me.” 

As she watches the the officers’s credit they get the Partisan off of her floor, Cassian twines the bandages around her injuries. She hisses out through her teeth when the pain flares, but says nothing to Cassian’s whispered apology, shaking her head to silently convey that it’s fine. 

One of the officers takes both the knife and the book she’d hit the Partisan, placing them into clear bags to use as evidence. When one of the cops hauls his unconscious body up off of the floor, her attacker stirs, blinking to clear the fog of unconsciousness out of their eyes. 

“What. . .” they trail off, shaking their head and then wincing. Now that he’s awake, the cop sets him down on his feet and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. “You – you bitch! You hit me! You knocked me out!” 

“Do _not_ talk to her like that!” Cassian snarls, but she shakes her head, not affected by the petty insult. She’s been called a bitch enough in her lifetime where it doesn’t even bother her anymore.

“You have the right to remain silent,” the police officer intones, leading him out of the room. “Anything you say can and will – ” 

“Just because I couldn’t kill you doesn’t mean you’re not going to die!” he snarls over his shoulder. “Others are coming for you, Erso! Traitors need to be _punished._ ” 

“Snitches get stitches,” she mutters underneath her breath, half of her mouth quirking up in a small smile when Cassian exhales a small laugh. 

The remaining cop starts to question her about what happened. Jyn keeps her answers short and perfunctory, the exhaustion from her ordeal beginning to sink in. The pauses between her words begin to grow longer. Cassian, noticing her failing ability to keep up with the rigorous, though informal, interrogation. 

“I’ll bring Erso around to the station tomorrow for further questioning,” Cassian cuts in smoothly, placing a hand on her back. “I’ll take care of it from here, officer. You’re dismissed.” 

The cop nods. “Yes, sir.” 

It isn’t until she hears the front door slam shut for a second time and sees for herself that no one else is in her apartment does she actually relax. She sighs, eyes closing and chin dropping down her chest. “Fucking _finally._ ” 

Cassian squeezes her shoulder. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you cleaned up and back to bed.” 

She leads him to the bathroom where her first-aid kit is, the two still connected through touch. Once they’re both inside he closes the door behind them. One look at her face and he turns around to open it up just a crack. 

Shaking her head and sitting down on the closed toilet seat, she says, “It’s okay. I’m not. . .you don’t have to close it.” 

“It doesn’t bother me having the door open,” he replies. 

The small space is claustrophobic, but not like the supply closet at the precinct. It helps that it’s familiar to her, that they’re in her home instead of a building where she feels unsafe. The company matters, too; if she had been stuck in here with anyone else, she wouldn’t have wanted her route of escape to be blocked. But Cassian, as always, is different. 

“I’m fine,” she answers honestly, offering a tight smile. She flexes and unflexes her hands, using the pain to ground her to properly articulate her thoughts. “It’s – it’s okay when I’m with you.” 

Cassian visibly softens at those words. When he leans forward to press a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, he murmurs against her hair, “You make me feel safe, too.” 

The feeling of his lips against her skin lingers even after he’s pulled away from her to start rifling through her first-aid kit. She raises a shaky hand and touches the spot where he’d kissed her, smiling softly to herself as warmth unfurls through her chest. 

He pulls out a pack of antiseptic wipes, ripping open the package with his teeth. Now that she knows how his mouth feels, she’s briefly hypnotized by the site. It’s only Cassian’s warning words that shake her out of her state, the feeling of his calloused fingers unwrapped the bandages against her palms jolting her back into reality. “This is going to hurt.” 

“That’s fine,” she says. “Just do it.” 

The wipe against her skin is cold before it burns, but she keeps her face impassive so not to make Cassian feel guilty for hurting her further. As quickly as he can, he cleans her wounds and the excess blood staining her skin, giving them both a clear look at the cuts for the first time that night. 

They’re not as deep as she’d originally thought, no muscle or bone poking through. Using her hands to protect her neck from the knife is a skill she’d learned long ago, but when done incorrectly it could cause irreparable damage. 

Cassian comes to the same conclusion, sighing in relief. “These looked worse before,” he says, examining them in the fluorescent lighting in the bathroom. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches.” 

Jyn raises a brow. “They still hurt, though,” she tries not to smile when she says it, but can’t help herself. Amusement dances in her eyes; for the first time in the past twelve hours, she feels light, bubbly, like she’ll float up to the ceiling at any moment. “I think you need to kiss them better, Doctor Andor.” 

“Is that a line you use on all medical professionals?” he murmurs with a roll of his eyes, placing a piece of gauze over the cut and wrapping a fresh bandage around her palms. “You are highly inappropriate, Miss Erso.” 

She pouts, looking up at him through her lashes in a mock attempt at seduction. “So does that mean you’re not going to kiss it better?” 

“I didn’t say that,” he responds, then raises her palms to his lips and kisses both of them in turn. He moves upward, kissing each pad of her finger individually, stubble rasping deliciously over her skin. “I am,” he says between contact, “so glad,” another kiss, “that you’re all right.” 

“I’m Jyn Erso,” she tells him with a hint of false bravado, her voice wavering slightly as she speaks. “I’m always all right.” 

“Maybe so.” At that, he smiles slightly, mouth crinkling. It falls as quickly as it appears, his next words becoming more serious. He doesn’t look at her, picking at a thread on his sweatshirt. “When you called me, I was so scared. If something happened to you, Jyn. . .I don’t know what I would do.” 

She’s not good with emotions, never has been. It wrenches her heart to hear his pain, knows the feeling of helplessness all too well. Her stomach churns nervously, reaching out to him. Instead of saying something reassuring, she asks, “Kiss me again?” 

He does.


	16. Chapter 16

_The sound of his phone ringing jolts him out of the light slumber he’d been stuck in for the past few hours. After waking from a nightmare earlier in the night, he’d known his prospects for a restful sleep were next to none. When he rolls over to see Jyn’s name on the caller ID of his cellphone, he resigns himself to an early morning and picks up the call, mentally preparing himself for whatever it is she needs from him._

_(The last time she’d called him in the middle of the night, she’d needed a ride home from work. He hadn’t minded driving her back to her apartment, but he’d needed an extra cup of coffee the next day.)_

_Before he can get the first word in, she speaks first. Her voice is quiet, slightly raspy. A nervous feeling prickles at the back of his neck at the sound of it. “Cassian?”_

_“Hey, hey – Jyn?” He rubs a hand over his eyes, trying to get rid of his exhaustion. He glances at the clock and frowns, knowing she gets off her shift about an hour earlier. “Mm, it’s like three in the morning. . .”_

_“I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important,” she interrupts. “Just – I was attacked. I’ve got a – ”_

_Those words are enough to send his blood run cold. Attacked? Does that mean – is she all right? He can’t sit still anymore. In one swift moment, he shoves his blanket off of his legs and stands up, pacing back and forth. His free hand, for lack of anything better to do, runs back and forth through his sleep-tousled hair._

_“¡Mierda, Jyn!” The curse slips out of his mouth without a second thought, her words waking_ him up _better than caffeine ever could. “You were attacked? Are you all right?”_

_If she’s speaking, then she must be okay. If she could dial up his number and call him, then she’s okay. Surely that means she’s all right. She doesn’t sound like she’s too much pain, she’s good at hiding that kind of stuff but he likes to think that he’d be able to tell otherwise, even over the phone –_

_“My phone is going to die,” she spits the words out as if speaking pains her, clipped and angry. “There’s an unconscious Partisan on my floor. Send someone.”_

_A Partisan? His mind spirals. He should have known her former associates would be after her, especially if they found out she’s ratting them out to the police. Stars, he’s so – he should have arranged for some sort of protection for her, not like she would have accepted that, probably saying something like, “I can fucking protect myself, Cassian!”_

_Desperately, he tries again, noticing that she hadn’t answered his question the first time, “Jyn, are you all right?”_

_No answer._

_Again, he asks, “Jyn? Are you there?”_

_When she doesn’t reply for the second time, he pulls his phone away from his ear and stares down at his screen to see that the call has been disconnected. Fear gripping his heart and lungs struggling for air, he redials her number and reaches voicemail time after time._

_His mind rushes through scenario after scenario. What if the Partisan had woken up and attacked her while she was distracted? What if she’d fallen unconscious from her injuries? What if –_

_Breathe, Cassian. There’s only one way to find out._

_Dialing the number to the precinct, he shoves his phone between his shoulder and ear, grabbing a pair of pants off the floor and pulling them on. With each fast, jerky movement, his injuries pain him even more, but he doesn’t care in the slightest. “This is Andor, I need officers down to – ”_

“Cassian? Are you even listening to a word I’m saying?” 

Shaking the thoughts out of his mind, Cassian smiles tightly down at Leia. “Sorry,” he tells her, doing his best to look apologetic. “I’m a bit, ah. Distracted.” 

“I get it,” she replies with a wave of her hand, surprisingly sympathetic. “How’s Jyn doing?” 

“She’s a terrible patient.” The corners of his mouth quirks up fondly. “And she doesn’t like being coped up in my apartment. Keeps telling me that if someone else tries to attack her, she’ll deal with them her own damn way.” 

It had been difficult enough to convince her to stay with him; she’d been insistent on living with Bodhi until the threats against her life slowed down. She’d already taken enough from him, she’d claimed, but at his argument that Bodhi doesn’t know self-defense to the extent that he does, she’d folded begrudgingly. 

Leia laughs and observes wryly, “It sounds like she’s pretty much back to her usual self, then.” 

It had taken a day or two for her to start to relax again, to stop looking over her shoulder even in the safety of his home. She wouldn’t sleep, would just sit straight up in bed watching the window despite his best efforts to get her to lay down next to him. Eventually, she’d worn herself down and succumbed to exhaustion, but he remembers how helpless he’d felt not being able to do anything to help her. 

She still isn’t sleeping well, he knows. Though she’s checked and double-checked his apartment security multiple times (and even implement some of her own methods), it hasn’t yet eased her mind. Sometimes he wakes to her just looking at him, tracing her fingertips over the contours of his face as if she can’t believe he’s here with her, that he’s alive and unharmed. It’s times like these that he always tugs her closer, arm wrapped around her waist and her head tucking underneath his chin. 

He shrugs a shoulder, not wanting to divulge any of Jyn’s secrets even to someone they trusted. She’s usually the tough person she portrays herself to be, but not all the time; people expect her not to break but she’s human just like the rest of them. A little, white lie in this conversation won’t hurt anyone – she _would_ be back to her usual self, just maybe not for a bit longer. “Yeah. She’s doing good.” 

“I’m glad.” The other woman nods once, decisively. “You two are good for each other.” 

Thank the stars for his spy training. If not for it, he’s sure his eyes would have bulged out of his head in surprise. He shouldn’t be shocked – Leia always seems to know what she shouldn’t, always seems to know other people’s business without being told of it. It’s what makes her a good politician. “We’re not – ” 

But nothing stops Leia Organa when she’s on the warpath; instead of commenting further, she just smiles in that way of hers that means she knows all his secrets. “As I was saying,” she continues, crossing her arms over her chest and acting as if she hasn’t even said a thing. “We’re finishing up the preparations on our end. Yesterday, Han got that costume from Lando’s friend.” 

“The sex costume?” he asks with a raise of his brow. 

“I would prefer if you didn’t call it that,” she grumbles. _“Yes,_ the ‘sex costume.’ Han hasn’t shut up about that thing since he’s gotten it. If you could ask Jyn for her measurements, then I could get it altered to fit properly.” 

“I could do it.” 

“You can sew?” 

“My mama taught me,” he says nonchalantly. “It would be cheaper to have me do it instead of paying someone else. Easier, too, since Jyn’s living with me. Could do most of the work when she’s wearing it.” 

“If you’re sure,” she says. “It would take a load off my plate. I have so much to do in my other job that I barely have time for the Rebellion.” 

“The Council giving you problems?” 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” she retorts with an uncharacteristic roll of her eyes. “You’d think that they’d be over what I do in my personal life, but it’s been the talk of each and every meeting for weeks now.” 

The cop in him hears the underlying meaning to her words, whether or not she intends for it to come across. With the extra activist work she’s been doing to help _them_ catch Krennic, she’s taking flak for it in the professional atmosphere. He’s always known Leia to be fiercely loyal, and he doesn’t doubt her now – only questions the lengths she’ll be willing to go for friendship. How much is too much?

(He supposes they’ll cross that bridge when they come to it, but not now. They’re so close to getting Krennic that he can almost taste it.)

He hesitates, not sure if it’s his place to offer but feeling the need to do it all the same. His status in the police department gives him some unique privileges. “If you ever need help with anything. . .” 

Again, she brushes off his concern, a tight smile pulling at the corners of her eyes. As a liar himself, he knows when someone’s not telling the truth. “You’ve got enough of your own problems to worry about, Cassian. I’ll be fine. Now, I’ll have someone drop off the uniform at your place later today. . .”

* * *

Upon reaching his apartment building, he pulls out his phone to send a quick text message to Jyn to let her know that he’s back and that he’s going to be coming upstairs. Though not truly necessary to do so, it’s better for her peace of mind. Yesterday, he hadn’t given her a warning beforehand – and had barely managed to dodge a shoe she’d thrown at him in her panic as soon as he entered the room; to prevent a situation like that again, this is the solution that the two of them had agreed on. 

When he doesn’t hear back from her immediately, he doesn’t worry. Sitting back on the hood of his car, he waits until she texts back before he enters his building. It’s cold, bitterly so, but what’s a few minutes more in the chilly weather if it makes Jyn feel safer in his home? The last few days have been hard enough for her – he can see it, even if she won’t fully admit it.

Once he gets the okay from her, he heads up to his apartment, deciding to take the rickety elevator to save his back and leg pain. It’s not something he does often – more than half the time he rides it he thinks it’ll go plummeting down to the basement – but today he takes the risk, having already strained himself more than he does usually. A hot shower and a cup of tea should do the trick to ease some of the pain. . .maybe he can convince Jyn to curl up on the couch with him for a couple of hours. 

“Jyn?” As he says it, he puts his keys in the lock and opens the door, gingerly entering. “It’s just me.” 

“Yeah, I know,” she hollers back, probably still sitting in the living room where he’d left her this morning. “I got your text. It’s okay if I use your laptop, right?” 

“If I say no,” he replies slowly and carefully, toeing off his shoes, “will you stop using it?” 

“I couldn’t guess the password, so that’s a point in your favor.” Just as he straightens she rounds the corner, looking smug. “Means I had to hack into the mainframe to use it, though.” 

“You could have texted and asked.” 

“Would you have actually given it to me?” 

Cassian raises a brow. “Why wouldn’t I? I don’t have anything to hide from you, Jyn.” 

“Oh.” Her face falls, brows furrowing as she considers that. It’s because of her stubbornness, he knows, that she hadn’t even thought of asking him for assistance; a life spent being independent leaves almost unbreakable habits. She adds defensively, “Yeah, I guess I could have done that. But my way’s faster.” 

“I’m not mad,” he’s quick to tell her, walking into the kitchen and grabbing himself a beer out of the fridge. “So long as you didn’t break anything or download any viruses, I’m not mad.” 

“Of course I didn’t,” she mutters, mock-affronted at the insult to her skills. “‘Download a virus’ – a fuckin’ insult.” 

He hums in amusement, leaning back against the fridge and twisting the cap off of the beer bottle. The laptop sits on his countertop, open to her email account. He doesn’t want to pry, so he only glances briefly at the screen. She’s in the middle of writing something, but it doesn’t look close to done. “What are you working on?” 

“I’m sending an email,” she says, as if that isn’t obvious, pulling out a stool and taking a seat. “Why do you want to know?” 

“Just curious,” he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant about it. It’s not irritating, per se, but the seeming lack of trust between them bothers him. They’re partners – they have each other’s backs, they’ve kissed. They’ve kissed _more than once_ and now they’re living with each other. Isn’t trust supposed to go both ways? He doesn’t even really care who she’s writing to – that’s not the point. “I don’t know why you’re being so secretive. It _is_ my computer – I could check later if I wanted to.” 

“I have ways of deleting the history,” she replies shortly, aggressively pressing keys and then deleting an entire sentence. 

“Jyn.” 

_“Cassian.”_

“I don’t get why you’re being so stubborn about this,” he shoots back, rubbing his palm over his face in frustration. It’s not even about what she’s writing on – it’s that she still doesn’t seem to trust him completely. “It’s a fucking _email_ – why do you care if I know who it’s to?” 

Jyn pauses, fingers stilling. “It’s to people from my past,” she hedges. “I don’t know if I want to talk about them. Yet.” 

The past is a tricky thing, capable of hashing up long gone memories and making them feel as if they happened yesterday. He knows all too well the dangers of remembering things he’d rather forget; when he has a particularly bad nightmare, it affects the rest of his day, shaking him to the point where it feels as if he hasn’t made any progress forward. 

But he wants to know Jyn better. He wants to understand the nuances of her personality, why she acts the way she does, how to help her when she’s too stubborn to admit that she needs it. If they’re going to be – in a relationship, he supposes, or just two people who kiss sometimes (he won’t be labeling it before they discuss that particular topic), then he wants to know more about her. 

“What if we made a deal?” he proposes, taking a few steps forward and leaning against the counter so she’s directly across from him. “An answer for an answer. Like a game. I ask you a question and you answer, and then you get to do the same.” 

She considers that, interest showing in her gaze. Cocking her head to the side, she asks, “What if I don’t want to answer something?” 

“Then you don’t have to.” The point of this isn’t to make her – or either of them – uncomfortable. “In that case, I’ll ask another question.” 

Mulling over that for a few seconds, Jyn nods once she’s made her decision. “All right. I’ll bite. Go ahead and ask me again who I’m writing this email to.” 

Barely smiling, Cassian shakes his head. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to ask something else now,” he tells her seriously, laughing silently at the consternated look that appears on her face. “What’s your favorite color?” 

“I – “ she pauses, licks her lips. “I guess I haven’t thought of that in a while. It used to be green, but now. . .” she trails off, looking at a point over his shoulder as she considers. “Pink, maybe,” she answers finally. “I don’t have any. . .negative associations with that color. It doesn’t make me think of anything, so. . .” 

His heart clenches. That question was supposed to be a way to ease them into more difficult ones, but he should have known better. “Jyn. . .” 

Her jaw clenches. “It’s my turn to ask a question now.” 

He relents, forcing his body to relax. At least she has one color that doesn’t remind her of more painful times. “Shoot.” 

“What happened to your back?” 

He clenches his jaw. “Starting off easy, huh, Jyn?” 

“If you don’t want to answer it, you don’t have to,” she says. “I have other questions I could ask.” 

“No, it’s just. . .” he blows out a breath. “It’s stupid. I was chasing after a drug dealer in the middle of winter. He turned a corner and I wasn’t watching where I was going and slipped on a patch of black ice. Needless to say,” he laughs without mirth, “I didn’t catch him.” 

He’d briefly blacked out, waking up on the sidewalk flat on his back and blinking up at Kay’s concerned face looking down at him. There’s no honor in breaking multiple bones from a fall – at the time, he’d just felt like an idiot. 

“I fell out of a tree when I was younger,” she interrupts all of the sudden. He looks at her, brows pulling together in confusion, wondering where the hell this is coming from. “Landed on my hip and dislocated the joint. One of the Partisan’s doctors popped it back in, but they didn’t do it right. It locks up when I’m sitting for too long and try to stand up.” 

It’s an offering, a memory for a memory. Warmth unfurls in his chest, smile creeping upon his lips. 

“It happens to everyone,” she continues. “Shit happens. It doesn’t make you a bad cop or anything. You’re the best I know.” 

“That’s because I haven’t arrested you yet for all the stupid shit I do.” 

“It’s because you’re the only one who’s given me a chance,” she corrects him gently. “You don’t treat me like a criminal like everyone else does.” 

“You’re such a sap,” he accuses because his throat is closing up and his eyes are getting suspiciously watery. 

“You take that back.” 

“I won’t,” he replies, “because it’s true. When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?” 

“A scientist. Just like my mama and papa were. It didn’t matter what kind, I just wanted to be like them.”

He remembers her briefly mentioning that her mother had been a geologist. He can’t see her sitting with rocks all day – she doesn’t have the patience – but with what she can do with computers, in another life she would have been a brilliant programmer. 

(Selfishly, he likes her just the way she is. As much as he wishes she could have gone through a different path of life, he’s glad that she hasn’t. If she hadn’t gone to Wobani, he doubts he would have met her.)

“You mentioned that you had a sister,” she starts. He remembers that conversation – it had been back when he had told Jyn about his parents’ death. “What’s her name?” 

“Esperanza,” he says quietly. “It was too long for me to pronounce when I was younger, so I called her Espie. She said she hated it, but. . .” he shrugs a shoulder, corner of his mouth curling up. “I don’t think that she did.” 

He had been six when his parents died, so he doesn’t have too many memories of his sister, but the ones that he does he cherishes fondly. Most days, it hurts too much to think of her and the life his family could have had, but sharing her name with Jyn has the opposite effect. It doesn’t feel as if his heart is cleaving into two, just aching a bit. 

“That’s pretty,” she comments, her voice so soft that he barely hears it. 

After clearing his throat to shake off the sadness, he says in an attempt to lighten the mood, “All right, here’s the question that you’ve been dreading. Who are you writing the email to?” 

“Chirrut and Baze,” she replies after a beat. “They’re my – um, they’re my old foster parents. I haven’t talked to them since I got out of Wobani, so Bodhi told me to send them something so they know I’m alive.” 

“I’m surprised you actually listened to him.“ 

“They deserve to know,” she mutters, not looking him in the eye. “They’re good people. After Saw left me, I got into trouble. Went into the system for a couple of months. They adopted me even though I was going to turn eighteen in a few months.” 

He’s spent his fair share of time in foster homes, none as pleasant as hers, but there’s no resentment when he hears her answer. For someone who’s had as much pain as Jyn has, he’s glad there’s a time in her childhood that she can look back at fondly. 

(A part of him, though – a part of him is jealous.)

“What happened to your sister?” 

“Why do you care about my sister?” The answer leaves his lips before he can even think about it, forgetting their game in the face of a question that’s completely knocked him off his feet. He doesn’t want to think about Esperanza, doesn’t want to go underneath the surface of what he knows. Once that memory bursts, nothing is going to stop it from rushing through him. 

Jyn’s face twists, mouth curling downward. “It’s my turn to ask you something,” she says petulantly, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her hands. “Are you going to answer it or not?” 

She’s giving him a way out, but he wants to tell her – wants to, but doesn’t know how. He doesn’t think he’s ever said it out loud, not wanting to make his worst fears a reality. “I – I don’t know.” 

Her eyes narrow. “That doesn’t count.” 

“It’s all I can give you,” he says helplessly. “I really don’t know what happened to her. After my parents died, my relatives in Mexico – they didn’t want us. So we went into the system. And then. . .” 

The words aren’t coming, so Jyn finishes for him when the silence becomes too long. “You got split up,” she surmises, because she knows, she’s experienced it just as he has. “And you haven’t seen her since.” 

“I’ve tried looking, but I couldn’t find anything,” he confesses, eyes cast downward. “Eventually, I just gave up.” Even if he had been able to find her, he isn’t sure that she would have ever wanted to reconnect with him. He’s not the same six-year-old kid she’d once known; he’s different now, _changed_. 

(Some days he thinks he’s more monster than man.) 

Reaching across the table, Jyn intertwines her fingers with his, squeezing gently. She doesn’t speak for a few seconds after she does it, but when she does, he almost doesn’t comprehend what she’s said. “I could ask around. See if anyone has heard something.” 

He’s tried everything he could think of, and he opens his mouth to tell her so, but she adds quietly, “Criminals aren’t going to trust cops, Cass. If they haven’t heard I’m working with your lot, then they’ll talk to me.” 

No one has. . .it’s been a long time since someone’s offered to do something for him without expecting repayment. Unable to properly show his gratitude with words, he lifts their hands up and presses his lips to her fingers. 

She quirks a smile. “I’ll take it that’s a yes?” 

“If you try,” he tells her genuinely, “I would be in your debt.” 

“There are no debts between us,” she shakes her head. “We’re partners, right? Partners don’t do that debt shit.” 

They’re way past being partners in just business, having crossed that line long before they’d even kissed, but the sentiment remains. “No debts, then,” he replies because he’ll agree with almost anything she asks of him. “Deal.” 

“How did your meeting with Leia go?” she asks. “Is there anything else she needs us to do?” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s _my_ turn to ask you a question,” he retorts, amusement glimmering in his eyes. He’s being a shit and he knows it, but he can’t help it. The possibility of finding his sister after all these years leaves him feeling giddy. “What’s your favorite food?” 

_“That’s_ what you choose to ask?” Her voice is incredulous, but at his nod, she rolls her eyes with a fond sigh. “Chocolate cake.” 

“Really?” 

“I didn’t get to eat a lot of sweets when I was younger,” she shrugs, glaring at him, a bit defensive. “I remember the first time I had it, I nearly ate the whole thing. It’s good, okay?” 

He holds up his free hand. “Not judging,” he’s quick to explain. “Just wasn’t expecting that, is all.” Next time he goes out, he makes a mental note to stop at the bakery a few blocks away. 

She eyes him warily, but repeats her earlier question, clearly annoyed that she has to ask him again. “Now will you tell me what Leia said?” 

“She got the sex costume,” he replies with a soft chuckle. “She’s going to have someone drop it off later today so I can do the measurements and adjust when you’re actually wearing it.” 

“I didn’t know you could sew,” she muses, looking at him in a new light. “How’d you learn?” 

Letting the out of turn question slide, he answers, “My mama taught me when I was young. I don’t remember much of what she told me, but I picked it up again a couple of years back.” Relearning the skill had been an attempt to get closer to her memory; it hasn’t really worked, but it’s a useful thing to know how to do.

“Huh,” she considers this. “Okay. Not excited about putting on the sex costume, but if we can get Krennic because of it, I’ll do it.” 

“Other than that, we’re pretty much good to go,” he tells her. “The Rebellion’s given us all they have, and with your father’s advice, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be.” It’s still a one in a million shot, but there’s hope. He knows better than most at what a good motivator hope can be. 

“I can’t believe it’s almost over,” she whispers, turning to look at him when he crosses around the table to stand in front of her. She tilts her chin up to look at him. “It’s been one hell of a journey.” 

It really has. Instead of answering, he leans down and kisses her gently, raising one hand to curl into her hair and tug her closer, intensifying the contact. 

When they break, he smiles, tucking a mussed lock back behind her ear. “I’m going to go shower,” he says. “I’ll let you finish your email.” 

For a second, he considers asking her to join him underneath the water but ultimately keeps his mouth shut. They’ve only just started this thing between them, and he doesn’t want to ruin it by propositioning sex too early one. Besides, he’s not sure if Jyn’s ready for that next step yet – he’s not sure if _he_ is. It’s best a topic to discuss another day when they’re both comfortable with how they’re standing. 

“I’ve been staring at it for the past hour,” she complains. “I don’t even know what to say to them.” 

He kisses the top of her head, unable to keep away from her for too long. “Keep it simple,” he advises. “Tell them you’re okay, at the very least. It doesn’t have to be very long.” 

As he’s walking to the bathroom, she calls out to him and he stops. “Wait. I’ve got another question.” 

“It’s not your turn.” 

“Fuck off,” she says fondly. “Listen. I heard that Saw’s funeral was a couple of days ago, and I wanted to go, but with the attack a couple of days ago. . .” she hunches forward, the next words coming out of her mouth in one breath of air, _“Willyoucomevisithisgravewithme?”_

_Cassian blinks. “Huh?”_

“Will you,” she starts again, taking a deep breath to steel herself. “Will you come to visit his grave? With me?”

It’s an odd request to ask of the officer that had been set on taking him down, but their relationship has evolved to so much more than cop and criminal. “If that’s what you want, then, of course, I will.” 

“I don’t know when,” she tacks on. “Just that – I want to go.” 

“All right. We can go whenever you want.” 

After a beat of silence, he turns back to the bathroom and almost closes the door before she interrupts again. “Cassian – ” 

“Hmm?” 

“I don’t say it enough, but – thank you. For everything.” 

“I know,” he tells her because he does. Jyn isn’t someone to show her gratitude with words – she’s much better at doing it through her actions. Everything she’s done for him thus far, he’s seen her appreciation through it. Her _love_ , even – if he could go that far. “You’re welcome, Jyn.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay in posting this! hope you enjoy it even though it's a day late <3


	17. Chapter 17

There’s a hidden truth rolling around in her stomach, sitting heavy like a rock in a way that has her normally measured breaths coming out stuttered and uneven. 

Cassian notices – he always does – but when she insists that she’s fine, there’s enough heat in her protest that he backs off. But his mind is still clearly whirring around what she’s hiding from him, even though there’s a _reason_ she hasn’t told him of her plans for tomorrow; if he pushes enough on the topic she’ll either break or get snappy with him and neither of those options is ideal. 

If she can get him focusing on himself instead of her, maybe she can switch the conversation and distract him from what he doesn’t know. And she’ll always jump at the chance to get to learn more about him – in her eyes, it’s a great way to kill two birds with one stone. In hindsight, not so much. 

“Tell me a secret.” 

Cassian props himself up on his elbow, laying on his side and looking down at her fondly. “A secret, huh?” 

“Mhm.” She reaches up, tucks one of his longer curls back behind his ear and lets her hand linger on the side of his face, nails scratching gently down his stubble. Her feet, constantly frozen cold and covered with a pair of woolen socks at Cassian’s request, poke at his calf underneath the blanket. “It better be a good one.” 

“Well,” he stretches out the word thoughtfully as he taps his chin, “I like seeing you in my clothes.” 

That exact “secret” is something he’d told her this morning when she’d wandered out of his – _their?_ – room with bleary eyes and messy hair, wearing nothing but one of his bigger pajama tops and one rumpled sock (the other having been lost sometime in the middle of the night). She enjoys wearing his clothes as much as he likes her to wear them around his apartment – which has pretty much become her home until they take down Krennic. 

(She’s kinda hoping it’ll be her home after, too.)

“That doesn’t count,” she informs him pointedly. “I _know_ that already – it’s obvious. Even if you hadn’t said that same thing this morning, I can tell by the way your eyes darken when I’m wearing them.” 

“Oh?” In fact, his pupils dilate as she looks up at his face. He leans down and noses at her hair, teeth scraping against her skin as he moves. Unconsciously, her back arches underneath his touch as he edges closer and closer to her mouth, his college sweatshirt that she currently has on slipping down her shoulder and exposing her collarbone. “What about now?” 

In mock-annoyance, she pushes at his chest and rolls her eyes, laughing breathily in a way that shows just how affected she is by his touch. “You can have a kiss once you tell me a better secret.” 

Though he leans back slightly, he’s close enough that she can still feel his breath against her neck as he speaks. “My sister had a hamster when we were young. I don’t really remember why, but one day I decided to let it out of its cage. I think I felt bad for it.” 

“You rebel,” she teases, as if she’s one to talk, curling her fingers in the front of his shirt and wishing that he would start going to bed without it. 

“I remember. . .” he pauses, chuckling under his breath as he recounts back. “It ran as soon as it got out of the cage and nobody could find it. My sister was so mad at me. A month later, we found it living between the couch cushions and eating our crumbs. My papa almost sat on it.” 

It’s a fond memory, one told with so much warmth that makes her smile when he finishes telling it. Though they both have happy recollections of their childhood, Cassian’s aren’t as sullied with resentment against his family or living situation – a fact that she’s glad to hear. Any thoughts of her past ultimately come with her current feelings of her mother, Galen, and Saw. 

“All right. I think you’ve earned this one, Andor.” Always one to uphold her end of the deal, she tilts her head to the side and meets his lips with hers. It’s short and gentle, and when it’s over she settles down comfortably at his side. 

“Your turn.” 

She rolls her head to the side, pillowed on his bicep. She thinks she knows what he’s talking about, but asks anyway, deciding to play dumb in an attempt to get out of the game of her own design. “My turn for what?” 

“Tell me a secret,” he replies quietly. “Something that you haven’t told anyone. Doesn’t have to be a memory.” 

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she mulls this over. There are a lot of things she could tell him – _I’m going alone to meet my father tomorrow_ – but instead she chooses to say, “I don’t like the dark.” 

That’s putting it mildly – she’s terrified of being alone in the dark, even more so when the space is tiny. Hours and days spent in small caves and bunkers after traumatic events transform her from her usual self to a shaking, nervous mess when put in the same situation. Back in her old apartment, she keeps the curtains open when she sleeps to let light from the city filter inside. Cassian doesn’t do that, (she’s sure he would if she asked), but she feels safe enough next to him that the pitch-black hardly registers. 

(That’s not to say that his presence eliminates all problems, but at least it keeps most of the demons at bay.)

It’s a crippling phobia, one that she doesn’t share with just anyone. It’s all too easy for enemies to exploit any weaknesses they can sniff out, a lesson she’d had to learn the hard way. But Cassian, as she’s seen time and time again, wouldn’t even think about doing that to her. 

Just as she’d predicted, he asks with a slightly panicked note in his voice that’s masked by his usual calm, “Are you okay right now?” 

It’s not the lack of light that bothers her now, but the dread of what she’s going to do tomorrow. “‘m’fine,” she mutters, purposefully not looking at his face and tucking her chin to her chest so she doesn’t have to see his reaction to that particular bit of sappiness. “Better with you.” 

Deciding to take pity on her and not comment on it, he pulls her closer until she shakes her head. “Turn around,” she says, and at his look of confusion, she adds, “You always get to be the big spoon. It’s my turn.” 

“Bossy,” he shoots right back but does as she asks all the same. Once his front faces the wall she curls around him like a monkey, legs and arms wrapping around his midsection. She presses her face to his back and inhales his scent by breathing in deeply, glad that he can’t see her expression and the pain that flashes across it. Hiding this from him isn’t ideal, but she doesn’t know how to tell him or what his reaction might be. This is something she needs to do, both for closure and answers. 

If she loses him now after all that they’ve been through together, then surely she’ll lose herself, too. _Codependent,_ her mind whispers traitorously, but it’s true. Despite her best efforts, she can feel the link between them growing strong with each passing day. She’s growing codependent _._

(It doesn’t scare her as much as it should.)

Slowly, she slips her hand underneath his shirt and presses her palm over his heart, feeling the steady thump thump of his pulse underneath her fingertips. When her cold skin touches his heated chest, he sucks in a breath but doesn’t move away, just shifts slightly back so there’s not as much strain on her arm and it’s easier for her to reach around him

“You okay, Jyn?” he asks quietly because he _knows,_ he always does. 

“I just need a. . .” she frowns, trying to find the word. “A reminder.” 

“Of what?” 

“Of what I have to be thankful for,” she says so quietly that she’s not sure he hears it, tightening her hold on him. Regardless, they spend the rest of the night in silence. 

* * *

The next morning, she nervously picks at the half-eaten banana muffin in front of her, leaving crumbs all over the table and the floor underneath her. Her cup of coffee sits untouched next to her, having long gone cold. It’ll be hell for whatever worker has to clean up her mess, but she can’t stop her anxiety from taking over hands and giving them a life of their own. 

Now that she’s living with Cassian, she doesn’t leave his apartment other than to go to work. It’s no different than her usual routine, though back then she’d travel to various locations around the city to meet with her partner. These days, they mostly talk shop over Chinese take-out in his dining room – that’s the only place where business ever permeates his home. The living room and bedroom are off-limits for that. 

Being out on her own for the first time in weeks is an odd sensation. She hadn’t said anything to Cassian when he’d left for work this morning, so if he’d assumed that she would be staying in while he was gone that’s his problem. If all goes well, she should be back before his lunch break even starts; he’s taken to coming home to share a meal at her insistence (mainly because she can’t stand to let him survive on old granola bars and energy drinks), and it’s become a routine between them. 

When her father approaches, she stands abruptly and nearly sends her chair clattering down behind her. Immediately, she curses herself for the rash action – what is she, a nervous teenager? Just because her palms are sweaty and legs are jiggling doesn’t mean that she can’t _act_ calm – Saw taught her better than to let her emotions show in times of distress, but she’s been slipping. 

It’s too late for her to regain a shred of her pride back – her father walks over to the small table, smiling warmly. For a second, he opens his arms up to hug her before remembering, then begins to shrug off his coat. Jyn eyes him warily, wondering if it would be more worthwhile to just run and leave him behind, but sits down as well. 

_You wanted this,_ she reminds herself as she composes her face back into a blank slate. _You agreed when he reached out to meet. Toughen up and face the music, Erso._

“I’m going to get something to drink,” he starts cautiously, speaking carefully so not to spook her. “Do you want anything?” 

She shakes her head, anxiety keeping her mouth firmly shut. Even if she had been able to speak, it would be a snapped response of how she doesn’t want to rely on his charity. Though her bartending wages are meager, she can still buy food for herself. 

(It’s the same thing she tells Cassian every time he offers.)

Her father returns with a small cup of black coffee – exactly what she would order for herself – and a tight smile. Almost as if in a peace offering, she shoves the remnants of her muffin across the table in case he’s hungry. 

(Why the hell does she even care?) 

“Thank you,” he murmurs quietly, almost in awe, almost like he can’t believe she’d just done that. He pulls the paper wrapping and tugs it closer to himself, looking down at her half-eaten bakery like it’s worth more than two dollars. 

Again, she says nothing in response, slumping down in her chair even further and crossing her arms over her chest defensively. 

“I’ll admit,” Galen starts tentatively, “that I was surprised when you said yes. I wanted to see you in a more private setting, but I was so sure that you would, ah. . .” 

“Tell you to fuck off?” she remarks bluntly, pushing a piece of her hair back behind her ear. Her father scowls at the use of her language – once a parent, always a parent – but nods begrudgingly all the same. She sighs, cupping her drink between her hands for lack of anything better to do. “I thought about it. I did. Maybe I should have, I don’t know.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

It’s a good question, one that Jyn’s been thinking about herself. Why the hell is she giving one of the men who abandoned her a second chance? She’s lived this long without his influence, and while the past couple years haven’t been great, she’s _survived._ That’s more than most can say. Saw taught her almost everything she knows and _he’s_ dead, the student outliving the teacher. 

But seeing him in Bodhi’s apartment tugged on a nerve that she hadn’t known she’d had. She could have gone the rest of her life without seeing him, but now that he’s returned a tentative hope has taken a hold of her heart. The feeling is unwelcome, especially in the face of her father’s prior actions, but it’s there nonetheless. 

Jyn chews on her bottom lip, shrugging a shoulder and repeats her earlier answer. Even if she knew the reason, she wouldn’t know how to properly word it. “I don’t know.” 

Galen studies her for a minute, making her shift uncomfortably underneath his scrutiny, then nods. “Whatever the reason,” he says gently. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

That makes one of them. Whatever the feelings currently rushing through her mind might be, glad isn’t one of them. For the most part, she just feels antsy, anxious to get out of here but rooted in her seat. “Why did you want to meet up?” 

She hadn’t exactly given him the warmest welcome a few weeks back. Most of that meeting had been spent dissociating or in her brother’s kitchen trying not to panic. When she thinks back, she finds it difficult to remember anything other than bits and pieces that day. 

“We didn’t get a chance to properly talk about Bodhi’s house. I just. . .I wanted to see how you were doing.” 

“Haven’t you heard?” she snorts, shaking her head. How she’d acted at Bodhi’s should have been clue enough. “I’m a fucking mess.” 

“I. . .yes. I figured, but I didn’t want to assume.” Now he’s the one fidgeting, hands clasping and pulling apart from where they’re placed on the table in front of him. From what she knows of her father, it’s not like him to be anything other than calm – but what does she know about him, really? He’d left when she was _eight_. “I’m sorry, St–Jyn. Jyn. I know that, in part, this has to do because of me.” 

He’s not wrong, but she doesn’t like how he automatically assumes he’s the cause of all her problems; she’s made plenty of bad decisions on her own with no thought given whatsoever to her estranged father. 

“It doesn’t, really,” she says offhandedly, her voice much lighter and more nonchalant than what she actually feels. “You didn’t force me to forge Imperial documents or get into a fight with one of their security officers.” Those are the first two offenses that pop to the front of her mind; there’s a much longer list that would take more time to recount.

(Is it wrong that she’s a little proud of her record? Sure, there are things she wishes that she hasn’t done, but for the most part, it’s a point of pride.)

Her father frowns when he hears that, brows pulling together. She swears she sees a glimmer of something in his eyes. “Oh, Jyn,” he murmurs. “I wish. . .I should have been there for you. I’m sorry.” 

There’s no point in thinking about the “what-ifs,” but late at night her mind often contemplates how her life would be different had her father stuck around and her mother had never been shot. She never would have needed to learn how to fight or have been arrested and locked up in Wobani. Maybe she would have been able to afford college and make a better life for herself because of it. 

But if not for Saw, she never would have met Bodhi. If not for her life as a criminal, she never would have met Han and, through him, Leia. And perhaps most importantly, without Wobani, she doubts she ever would have met Cassian. 

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter much now,” she mutters in response. There are a lot of things she would do differently given the chance, but a good amount that she would keep the same. “No point in dwelling on the past when we can’t do anything to change it.” 

“I miss her too, you know,” Galen says abruptly. 

Jyn blinks. “Who?”

“Lyra.” 

She doesn’t think of her mother often; the memories hurt too much to recall. The last time she’d seen Lyra alive, it’d been seconds before she was shot. Though Jyn had only been eight at the time, she can’t help but blame herself for her mother’s death. If only she had done something instead of hiding in the alleyway like a coward, if only she’d stood up and exposed herself, if only, if only. 

“I don’t want to talk about Mama,” she cuts him off, shaking her head, her childhood name for Lyra slipping off her tongue without conscious thought. To keep herself distance and detached, up until this moment she’d referred to Lyra solely by name in her mind – but the suddenness of how Galen had brought her up had thrown Jyn off guard. 

“Jyn – ” 

“I need to get going.” She stands in one swift motion, holding up her hands to cut him off. Her chest feels tight, head swimming. This hadn’t been a good idea. “I’m – I need to go.” 

Galen looks pained, remaining in his seat to look nonthreatening. “I’m sorry, Jyn, I – I didn’t mean to upset you. If you need to go, then – ” 

“I do, I need to go,” she nods furiously as she pulls her winter jacket off the back of her chair and tugs it on, struggling with getting her arms through the sleeves in her haste. “If you need to contact me, text Bodhi or something.” 

“Jyn, wait.” Her back is already to the table and she’s heading to the door when her father interrupts her progress. “I haven’t been there for you in the past and I’m sorry about that. But I will make this right. I promise you – things are going to change.” 

How does he plan to do that when even a small conversation sends her teetering over the edge of a panic attack? Her shoulders hunch forward, hands clenching into fists. No matter what he promises to do, he’ll leave her again. It’s just in his nature, so can she really fault him for that? She’s just someone who gets left behind, a fact about herself she’d come to terms with long ago.

So she does what she does best: she runs without looking back. 

* * *

Galen Erso enters the precinct with little fanfare; the fact that he’s one of the top physicists on the planet and working for one of the vilest companies doesn’t come into play with how he holds himself. His quiet demeanor and soft-spoken personality speak of an ordinary and humble man. To those unfamiliar with his appearance, he looks like a regular citizen coming in to report a small crime, like a wallet theft or mugging. 

Cassian stands when he sees Jyn’s father in the doorway, intent on making his way over to the entrance to greet him properly, but the officer working the front sends him over to Cassian’s desk a few seconds later. Stiffly, he sits back down and motions for the other man to take a seat in the plastic chair usually reserved for background checks and witness interviews. A seat normally reserved for criminals he’s checking in after their arrest. 

(Is that what this is?)

“Detective Andor,” Galen greets warmly albeit a little strained, the corners of his mouth tightening ever so slightly when he smiles. Cassian notes this mentally – there’s something weighing on the other man that’s keeping his focus off of their conversation. What’s troubling him? Jyn? Taking down his friend (though he says otherwise) and employer? “I didn’t know you would be working today.” 

Cassian makes a noise of agreement, shrugging non-committedly. “I’m behind a desk most of the time. The only time when I’m ‘out in the field’ is when I’m with your daughter.” 

“You and my daughter are quite close,” Galen observes, leading up to what Cassian believes is going to be the inevitable “you hurt my daughter and I’ll hurt you” talk. “You’ll take care of her when I’m gone?” 

Cassian blinks. “I. . .of course I will,” he says evenly, suspicion leaking into his voice. He doesn’t like the way that sounds. “Are you planning on leaving her _again?”_

Anyone who knows Jyn’s past understands how deeply rooted her abandonment issues are – even those who _don’t_ know can see it within her demeanor if they look close enough. It’s so deeply intertwined in everything she does and says – the fear of being left behind has crafted who she is today. 

And even if she won’t – can’t – admit it, if Galen abandons her for the second time, then everything he’s been trying to prove to her since they’d first met would be lies. 

“Everything I’ve done has been to protect her,” Galen replies quietly, maintaining eye contact despite the shame in his tone. “I hate that it’s hurt her, but – ” 

“Hurt her?” Cassian replies, voice dangerously low. His eyebrow ticks angrily. “You _broke_ her. She’s put herself back together over the years, but what you’ve done is unforgivable. If not out of respect for her, I would. . .” he trails off, shaking his head. The things he would do if given the opportunity. . .

But this is not his battle to fight. 

Galen tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, inspecting, reevaluating. “Yes,” he says hoarsely after a beat. “I suppose it is.” 

Though he sounds remorseful, Cassian’s lips curl back. “It’s not me you have to apologize to,” he retorts. “And if you want to start making it right by Jyn, then you need to stick around and actually show her that you mean what you say. I won’t speak for her and say she’ll accept you back in your life, but you damn well owe her the chance to decide for herself.” 

“I can’t. Not when I can do something better.” 

Though he’s not one to let his anger burn brightly (his is a cold, dark sort of fury), he indulges, just a bit. “What the _hell_ are you – ” 

Galen raises his chin defiantly, a move that reminds Cassian so much of Jyn that it almost leaves him floored. “Captain Andor,” he says firmly. “I’m here to turn myself in.” 

“You – ” Cassian stumbles over his words dumbly. There’s a buzzing in his ears, a surge somewhere deep inside him that convinces his brain that he’s heard incorrectly. He couldn’t have just. . . “You _what?_ ”

“If anyone could take down Orson Krennic, it would be the two of you,” her father says as if he hasn’t just dropped a bomb. “But on the chance that you don’t, I need to make sure that she doesn’t end up back in prison.” 

It’s a worry that Cassian himself has thought much about the past couple days – too much. It consumes his mind, becoming an idea that won’t let him go. He’d been beginning to form plans in case they fail, but this is one situation that he never would have thought up. 

“She’ll resent you for this,” Cassian whispers, fingers clenching into fists. Other than that, his body is stock straight, completely still, not letting the anxiety inside of him manifest in physical ticks. Stars, he is not prepared enough to deal with this today – he needs a drink. “She will – we both know it.” 

“I know,” the other man murmurs. “But I will not let her go back to that place. It’s about time I start righting the wrongs between us – I have let them fester for too long between us. It’s a father’s job to protect his daughter from things like this and I have failed for so long.” 

Cassian has no love for Galen, but this will hurt Jyn – of that he has no doubt. But if he doesn’t do this now, then her father will go straight to Draven and ask the same request. 

He steels himself for what he’s about to do and the chain of events that he’s about to set off. 

“Please, Captain Andor. Do it for my daughter. For Jyn.” 

(And if _that_ doesn't get to him – )

Cassian’s jaw clenches tightly before he nods once. “All right,” he says, reaching for the handcuffs at the back of his belt. Better him than Draven, he repeats over and over in his mind. _It’s better for Jyn this way._ “Galen Erso, I’m placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. . .” 

* * *

" _Jyn? It’s Cassian.”_

_“I know, I saw the caller ID. What’s up? Say it quick ‘cause I don’t have many minutes left for the month.”_

_“There’s something I need to tell you that I couldn’t text. I wish I could say it in person, but I can’t leave the precinct. With what’s happened. . .Shit, Jyn.”_

_“What the hell are you talking about? What’s going on?”_

_“...”_

_“Cassian? What the fuck is going on?”_

_“You’re not going to like it – ”_

_“Just tell me!”_

_“Your father’s – he’s at the precinct now. He’s just turned himself in.”_

_“What?! No, that’s – I just saw him this morning! He. . .”_

_“Wait, you saw him this morning? Why didn’t you tell me?”_

_“It doesn’t matter now! It doesn’t – just. Stars, what is he doing? We were going to save him, we were supposed to save him. . .”_

_“He said he was doing it to save you. No matter what happens with Krennic, you won’t be going back to prison. Jyn, I’m so sorry. There wasn’t anything I could do – he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”_

_“I. . .don’t know what to say. Or do. I’m going to. . .”_

_“Jyn? Jyn, are you still there? Jyn?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im going to be honest, i really struggled writing this chapter. no idea why, but it was difficult to put out. i think that with school getting more intense as the term goes on, i'm losing energy/motive to write. i have a feeling there's going to be a bit of a delay in the next chapter, so i'm rlly sorry for that :-( i just want this fic to be good for you guys and it won't be if i keep chugging out chapters. hopefully the wait won't be too long – i WILL finish this, i promise <333


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the wait. here's an extra long chapter to make up for it! it's mostly smut, so if that's not your thing, then the next will be entirely plot ☺️

Cassian’s not sure what kind of chaos he’s expecting to come back to when he gets off of work, but he expects _something_. A weird feeling settles in his stomach when he doesn’t get a reply from Jyn when he texts her, growing more prominent when the only response he gets from knocking on the door is silence. 

When he finally gets his key in the lock and makes it inside, she’s nowhere to be found. Not perched on a kitchen stool and hacking into his laptop, not taking a midday nap in his bed, no note scrawled in her chicken-scratch handwriting telling him where she is and when she’ll be back. 

His heart _drops._

“Shit,” he mutters to himself, running his hands through his hair frantically. There’s a price on her head in the criminal underground – he doesn’t want her running around when her head isn’t in the right place. Anyone will be able to catch her off guard. Would they kill her right away? Would there be any time for him to find her before that happened? “Shit, shit, shit, _shit – ”_

“Cassian?”

He whirls around at the sound of her voice, eyes widening and heart jolting in surprise. She’s standing in the open doorway, multiple grocery bags on each arm. She looks slightly winded, cheeks tinged pink, and her green eyes are rimmed with red, mascara smudged underneath her lower lash line. 

“Jyn,” he exhales, shoulders sagging in relief. She’s okay, she’s uninjured, she’s alive. “Fuck. You weren’t here, I didn’t know. . .” 

“We were out of milk,” she replies nonchalantly, as if her father hasn’t just been arrested a few hours ago, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening today. “I didn’t mean to worry you. My phone died and I thought that I would get here before you did.” 

He blinks, not moving as she walks past him into the kitchen, shutting the door behind her. What the hell is going on? Why isn’t she more – why doesn’t she seem to be feeling _anything?_ If not for the evidence that she’d been crying (or trying not to) earlier, then he would be thinking this was a hallucination. 

“Jyn,” he asks hesitantly, knowing it’s not the right thing to say but unable to come up with anything else, “Are you okay?” 

From where she’s putting the milk in the fridge, he sees her stiffen, shoulders riding up near her ears. “‘Course,” she says offhandedly, tightly. She’s wound so tight that she’s destined to snap. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Well,” he stretches out the word as he rocks back on his heels. “There was that phone call earlier where you hung up on me. After, you know, I told you that I arrested your father.” 

Real subtle, Andor. Nice going there. 

She’s silent for a few beats, waiting until she’s facing him to speak. “I don’t know what to think,” she replies hoarsely, and his heart soars at her honesty. “When you told me, I just – shut down. And then my brain rebooted and I cried for a little. Not because I was sad, just. There was so much pressure and I had to release it somehow.” 

He wants to tell her that it’s okay to cry, that she doesn’t have to hide her emotions from him or play them off as something else, but he keeps his mouth shut. The fact that she’s even telling him these things is enough for now. 

Trying to piece together the gaps, he adds, “And then you. . .went shopping?” 

Her shoulders roll back anxiously. “I needed to get out of the apartment,” she admits in a low voice. “But I don’t feel any better.”

“Jyn – ” 

“Like, of course I’m _grateful_ he sacrificed himself for me,” she interrupts, voice growing steadily louder. “But to do that, he left me _again._ It’s not the same, but it feels like it does, and I was just considering – I don’t know, just that I thought he would be here and not fuck off to God only knows where. But I was wrong and he’s gone again and I hate him, I really fucking hate him, Cassian. . .I. . .” 

All he does is open his arms when her face falls, holding her tightly in his embrace as she shakes apart like a leaf in a hurricane. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs against her hair, trying to keep her breaking heart together with only the strength of his arms. “I’ve got you.” 

* * *

Over the next few days, the fog in her head begins to dissipate. Instead of trying to discern her feelings around her father, she ignores them, choosing to not think about anything other than getting through the next minute, the next hour, the next day. 

Cassian, as always, is her rock. He’s there when she needs him, gives her space when she doesn’t. This is usually the type of storm she’s weather alone, but for once in her life, she’s glad that she doesn’t have to. She’s not okay yet, but she’s getting better, progressing more mentally and emotionally than she ever would have thought in such a small amount of time. It’s not all because of him, but his presence has a lot to do with it. 

Cassian’s entrance in her life has been nothing short of a miracle. 

Their relationship has been progressing, too. Though they haven’t done much more than intensive making out sessions, she feels closer to him than she has with anyone else. Fucking is something she knows – intimacy is different. 

But as they grow closer, she finds herself _wanting_. She hadn’t been sure at first, too worried about fucking up their fragile relationship to do anything else, but now she feels steady enough to want more. 

She’s curled up in her usual spot on the couch, a cup of tea in hand as she waits for Cassian to finish up in the kitchen and sit with her in the living room. When he does, however, he doesn’t take his usual spot at her side, instead choosing to sit in the large recliner perpendicular to her. 

“Sorry,” he says with an apologetic smile. “My back hurts. This chair is more supportive.” 

Jyn frowns, considering. She places her mug on the coffee table and leans forward, placing her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands. “What if,” she proposes, the idea forming in her mind as she speaks it out loud, “What if I give you a massage? Would that help?”

Cassian hesitates. “I don’t know. . .” 

Slightly disappointed, she tries to shrug it off as she leans back. They’ll watch TV as normal, get on with their evening like they usually do. “We don’t have to. I just thought it might help.” 

“No, I. . .” he pauses, face scrunching up. “I want you to, I just. . .the people at physical therapy say it might help, but I’ve never done it before. I don’t trust them, but I trust _you.”_

Her face heats at his easy declaration. She ducks her head to the side, chin to her shoulder, not able to meet his heavy gaze. _“Itrustyoutoo,”_ she mumbles quickly, the words coming almost too fast to understand.

“I didn’t say it because I wanted you to say it back,” he tells her with a smile. “But thank you. That’s good to hear.” 

“Yeah, well, I said it ‘cause I meant it,” she retorts, unable to hide her grin. “Now are we going to do this or what?” 

After a few minutes of maneuvering, they end up with Cassian laying on his stomach on the couch with Jyn straddling him, knees on either side of his hips. His head is pillowed on top of his arms, crossed in front of him. “I’m not a professional,” she warns, placing her palms flat on his back, “so I’m not going to do anything crazy. But you have to promise to tell me if it doesn’t feel right.” 

“Mhm,” he agrees non-committedly. 

_“Cassian,”_ she stresses. 

“All right, all right. I promise.” 

“Good.” And with that, she begins. Starting with a gentle examination, she runs her palms up and down the areas around his spine, noting where the muscles feel tighter and more strained than those around them. She digs her thumbs in as she does it, trying to alleviate small knots with the least amount of pressure possible. Stiffness from an old injury is much different than general aches and pains so she doesn’t want to cause him additional pain; but when she gets to his neck and shoulders, the tension there speaks of days spent hunched over a desk in a dimly lit office. 

“You really need to stop pushing yourself so much at work,” she admonishes, propping herself up on her knees slightly so she can manipulate the muscles on his upper back better. “Your knots have knots.” 

“I’m sure the victim’s family would love it if I took a break every five minutes instead of looking for the killer,” he says dryly, voice muffled from the material of the couch. 

“Yeah, well. I’m sure the victim’s family would love it even more if you were at your best every day instead of working on fumes.” 

There’s a beat of silence before he says, “I’m not saying you’re right, but maybe you have a point.” 

In her surprise at his words, her hand slips and accidentally presses too hard. He groans and she eases up immediately. “Fuck, sorry. Just never thought I’d hear you say that.” 

“No, keep pressing that hard,” he replies. “It feels really good.” 

_How good?_ She wants to ask cheekily but keeps her mouth shut instead so not to make him uncomfortable with her desires. 

After she’s satisfied with the state of his back, she slides off of him so he can sit up, perching next to him once there’s room for both of them on the couch. She raises an eyebrow. “Better?” 

His face is red; she tilts her head to the side like a hawk, trying to determine the reason why. “It was good,” he says, then clears his throat. “Yeah. It was good. Thank you.” 

Frowning, her eyes go down until she finds the issue at hand. He’s hard, straining against the confines of his sweatpants. All this, just from her hands?

Catching her heated gaze and misunderstanding her intentions, he moves to get up, completely flustered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It just happens sometimes, it doesn’t mean I want anything or am trying to – to put the moves on.” 

“Wait,” she reaches out, catches his hand. “Do you want anything?” 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he repeats, but she cuts him off, shaking her head. Anticipation makes her hands shake, her blood thrumming in her ears. 

“Don’t worry about what I want. Think about yourself, not me. Tell me what _you_ want, Cassian.” 

“I want. . .” he hesitates, tongue darting out to lick his lips. His eyes shift, uncertain. “I want to kiss you. I want to do more than what we’ve been doing.” 

Her heart leaps to hear that, stuttering an uneven rhythm in her chest. Scrambling in a not-so-graceful way, she gets up from the couch and tugs him toward the bedroom. 

“Jyn?” 

“I want that too,” she tells him, squeezing his hand in her own. “I really fucking want that, Cassian.” 

“Oh,” he swallows, glancing up for a second before meeting her gaze. “Good.” 

“Come on, then,” she says giddily. “Let’s do more than kissing.” 

This time, when she pulls him into his bedroom, he follows willingly. There’s a brief moment of uncertainty before she tells herself _“fuck it”_ and pulls him down to meet her. Electricity sparks between them at the touch of their lips and she curls into his embrace, body molding to his, chest to chest.

“Tell me what you want,” Jyn gasps into his mouth, fingers curling his hair and desperately pulling him _closer closer closer._

“Only if you do – “ she nips at his jaw and makes him suck in a sharp breath, soothing over the bite with her tongue. “Only if you do the same. I don’t want to push you, Jyn.” 

“Well, I don’t want to push you either,” she murmurs against his skin, teeth scraping now done his neck. If she has her way with him, then he’ll be going to work tomorrow with reminders of their night together bright on his skin. 

“Good thing we’re on the same page,” he responds cheekily, letting her back him into a wall, her hands fisted in his shirt. She leans up to kiss him again when he interrupts her with, “What do you want from me?” 

That makes her pause, if only slightly. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips as she considers. This is different from what she’s done before – she doesn’t know where to go from here. “I – I don’t know. What do _you_ want?” 

“I want. . .” he pauses, searching her expression with a heated look of his own. It sends shivers over her body, goosebumps running up and down her skin. He looks like he wants to devour her – and she’s going to let him. _Wants_ him to. The same desire is likely mirrored on her face, too. “I want to take off your shirt. Can I?” 

She thinks about it for a moment, then nods, deciding that she did want that. Imagining his warm hands running up and down her stomach and sides and shoulders. . .goosebumps break out on her skin. He reaches for the hem of her t-shirt and pulls it up over her head; she raises her arms slightly to help him. Once it’s gone, she steps back and crowds his space so he can’t get a good look at her exposed skin. The scars that litter her body are decidedly _not_ beautiful. 

“I want you to take off your shirt,” she whispers huskily, trying to shake her insecurities. “And I want to help.” 

He nods, adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows. She does the same for him as he’d done for her, slipping her hands up his stomach and shucking off his top, feeling his abdomen muscles jump under her touch. Her fingers smooth over his pecs, curling through the chest hair dusted there, but before she can get a good glimpse in, he tugs her in real close with an arm around her waist. 

Their bare skin presses together, but she wants _more_. “Let me see you,” she argues, pushing back at him to try and make some space between them. “I want to see you.” 

“Only if you let me see you,” he shoots back with a glimmer in his eye. 

She tenses in his arms, muscles bunching underneath his touch. His hands run up and down her shoulders and upper arms soothingly, waiting for her to make the leap. This is Cassian – Cassian who understands her, Cassian who doesn’t shy away from the darker parts of her past, Cassian who likes her more and more with each passing day, Cassian who she thinks she might be falling in – 

If she can’t trust him, then who can she? With that in mind, she swallows down her fears that he’ll turn his nose up in disgust and takes two steps back so they’re far enough away from each other and allowing him to see every bit of her. It’s just her torso that’s bare, but it’s enough to make her feel very vulnerable. This is more intimate than she’s ever been with anyone before. 

Instead of bowing her head or looking away, she meets his gaze boldly, chin raising defiantly. She lets her eyes rake over his chest, noting the bullet scar on his shoulder, a small scar on one of his biceps. Though he’s nowhere near as battered as she is, there are skill marks of war embedded into his skin. 

“You’re beautiful,” Cassian breathes, startling her out of her examination. She sucks in a breath, about to open her mouth to protest, but he cuts her off. “You don’t have to believe me, but you are.”

Though she doesn’t think highly of her appearance, his words warm her through, heat coursing throughout her body but pooling especially in her core. She’s never heard those words spoken with such reverence, let alone at all. Even if she doesn’t believe herself to be beautiful, she believes that _he_ does. Maybe with time, that’ll be enough for her. 

“You’re beautiful, too,” she says softly, letting her eyes linger one last time before going back to his face. “And I want to kiss you very badly.” 

“Good,” he replies with a quirk of his lips, already reaching for her. “Because I want that, too.” 

They meet in the middle, both taking one step forward before their lips collide. She wraps her arms around his neck, fingers curling in his hair and scratching gently; he pulls her in by the waist, then hooks his arms underneath her thighs and lifts. At this angle, their heights are almost even, eliminating the strain on her neck when she presses her mouth against his, tongue sweeping across his lips until he opens up for her. She’s so incredibly blissed out by the heat of the moment – of her heat pressed against the hard length of him, his bare skin pressed against hers – that she doesn’t even think until Cassian grunts softly, presumably in pain. 

“Fuck,” she mutters, already squirming to get down but his grip only tightens on her bottom. “Cassian, let me go. Your back must be killing you.” 

“My back is _fine,”_ he says, but at her disbelieving look, he adds with a roll of his eyes, “It’s not that bad, Jyn. I can hold you up.” 

“We’re not doing anything that hurts you,” she argues, finally managing to free herself from his arms and jumping down to the ground. Ignoring his groan of annoyance, she reaches for his arm and tugs him to his bed. “Come on. This’ll be better.” 

Once she feels the bed hit the back of her calves, she falls backwards and scoots up to let him crawl up after her. When he moves to hover over her, however, a sour feeling rises up in her throat. Though he’s one of the only people she trusts in his world, she still feels crowded, suffocated. 

It’s not enough to send her fully into a panic, but it comes close; she pushes at his chest until he gets the hint and rolls to the side, propping himself up on his elbow. Where there had once been desire, there’s now worry. “Jyn? Did I. . .?” 

“I don’t like to be caged in,” she murmurs, facing him and cupping his cheek. “I’m fine. You didn’t do anything.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says back, voice quiet. “I should have asked.” 

She shrugs a shoulder in response, moves to throw a leg over him instead, then pauses. “Can I get on top of you?” 

“Are you sure?” 

Though the events of the last minute have tempered her arousal, it takes only the deep huskiness of his voice to bring the fire rising back up inside of her. She brushes her thumb against his stubble, leaning in to kiss him gently. “I’d like to keep going,” she whispers. “If that’s what you want.” 

His mouth quirks into a smile. “Then I want to keep going and I want you to get on top of me.” 

With his confirmation voice, she sits up and does exactly that. Leaning forward to press her chest against his, she wraps her legs around his hips and intertwines her hands with his, kissing him deeply. Tentatively, she presses his wrists into the bed – a grip that he could easily break out of, just in case – and he arches up into her mouth, hips thrusting with the movement. She grins. _That_ is something she wants to explore later. 

His fingers smooth over the side of her bralette, tugging lightly on the lace edges. His voice thickens when he asks, “Can I take this off?” 

She pauses, leaning up so she can look down at him, chest heaving slightly with exertion. She reaches down, holds his hands with her own to still them but keeps them there against her skin. Taking her bra off would be too much, too vulnerable, intimate – but there is another option that she would feel more comfortable with. “I want to keep it on,” she murmurs, holding tight when he tries to take his hands back. “But. . .” 

With her free hand, she tugs down the bralette until one of her breasts is completely exposed. “This is fine,” she says, cheeks reddening. “Just not all the way. Not yet.” 

Cassian’s mouth hangs open. His tongue darts out, licking his lips as his eyes dart between her chest and her face before he says huskily, “Can I. . .?” 

To ease her nerves, she makes light of the situation. “Captain Andor,” she purrs, raking her nails down his skin and making him shiver. “I would really like if you put your hands on my tits.” 

Laughing breathlessly, he does exactly as told. “Yes, ma’am.” 

His touch is hesitant at first, brief grazes of his fingers that leave a wake of goosebumps across her skin. When one of his thumbs goes right across her nipple she sucks in a breath through her teeth, biting her lip to stay quiet. After seeing that reaction from her, he does it again with an amused gaze. Again she quiets herself. 

“I want to hear you,” he says, sitting up abruptly with her in his lap, arms banding around her back to keep her upright. “And I want to put my mouth on you. Can I?” 

“Go for it, hotshot,” she says breathlessly, and almost before the words are out of her mouth he’s upon her. 

Nudging her crystal necklace to the side with his nose, he wraps his mouth around one of her nipples, teeth grazing it slightly. She moans at the feeling, raising one of her hands to curl in his hair and press his face harder against his chest. The one goes to the comforter, nails digging in the material as she tries to ground herself. His free hand massages her other breast, not leaving it unattended while he laves attention on the other; her hips jerk at the feeling. 

When he’s satisfied with the heaving mess he’s left her, red marks marring both her breasts and the skin between, he leans back, grinning up at her. “That good?” 

“Don’t look so smug,” she mutters, kissing him to shut him up and biting on his lower lip, relishing in the moans she pulls out of him with that bit of roughness. “It’s your turn now.” 

Pointedly, she tugs at the waistband of his pants but doesn’t move to do anything yet. She watches him swallow, nothing but understanding in her gaze when he rasps, “You can push them down, but I don’t want them completely off.” 

“Both? Or just pants?” 

“Both,” he swallows again, jaw clenching as he refuses to meet her gaze. He flops back against the bed, once more on his back. “You can – both.” 

Abandoning her place straddling his hips, she sidles up to his side. The last thing she wants is for him to be uncomfortable; this is supposed to be relaxing and pleasurable for both of them. “Hey,” she says firmly. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Tell me what you want and what you don’t want, Cass.” 

It takes a moment for him to collect himself, but she waits patiently for his answer. “I haven’t done this in a while,” he admits finally. “And never with someone I care about.” 

Her heart warms, a smile threatening to break through her calm mask. He cares about her. He _cares_ – for once in her life, her feelings are being reflected from another back at her. “Me neither,” she replies softly. “Never with anyone that’s mattered. It’s always a quick fuck in some dark bar, you know? I’ve never. . .never cared about the person I was with until now.” 

“I think. . .” he trails off, but then shakes his head determinedly. “I don’t want to have sex tonight. There are other things we can do. . .I just want to take it slow.” 

A weight on her shoulders dissipates, one that she hadn’t even known to be holding her down. Until he says it, she doesn’t realize how much she wants to wait for more intimate connections. “Me too,” she says. “I don’t want to rush into things.” 

(Only fools rush in – and all that shit.)

“I would like to get you off tonight,” he adds, just as she’s opening her mouth to ask if he wants to be done for the night. Unconsciously, her thighs rub together, and she tries not to look too eager at his suggestion.

“Yeah?” Her voice comes out breathy, and yeah, fuck, she sounds _way_ too eager but she really doesn’t give a shit at this point. “I want that. Help me get my pants off.” 

While she unbuttons her jeans, he begins to tug them off her hips until they’re in a pile at the bottom of the bed. Chest heaving, face flushed, she lays almost completely bare with one of her breasts hanging out of her utilitarian sports bra and matching black underwear. 

Just as she’s starting to get uncomfortable, one of her knees moving upward to cover herself, Cassian reaches out a hand to stop her. “You don’t have to hide from me,” he tells her gently. “Jyn, you’re. . .” he shakes his head, trailing off. _“Fuck.”_

Laughing shakily with pink high on her cheeks, she says, “That’s the goal.” 

He slides his hand up from where it’s resting on her knee, stopping only when he reaches her underwear. Now that she’s shifted to her back, the side of his body presses against her; she can feel how hard he is against her hip. As his thumb rubs an aimless pattern on her lower stomach, he asks huskily, “On or off?” 

A moment's hesitation, cheeks heating with insecurity. There’s no judgment here, she reminds herself when she says, “On.” 

“Can I touch you?” He noses at the skin underneath her ear, making it difficult for her to concentrate on her answers. His teeth graze over her lobe, tugging it gently; she gasps, hips arching off the bed. “Talk to me, Jyn.” 

_“Yes,”_ she manages. She’s not someone who begs, but stars, she’s considering it now. “Yes, you can touch me.” 

Deciding to take mercy on her (a blessing since she suspects Cassian is the type to tease), he slips one of his hands into her underwear, fingers tracing lightly over her slit and collecting the wetness that’s gathered there. 

Unable to keep quiet, especially when his mouth attaches itself to her neck and he begins to palm her breast with his other hand, she closes her eyes and murmurs a gentle, _“Oh.”_

“Good?”

“Mhm,” she agrees, not really thinking much about anything other than his touch. When his thumb brushes over her clit, she gasps out, “Fuck – yes. Right there.” 

(Not that she’ll ever admit it, but sometimes Jyn reads smut novels. It’s usually after a long night at work, with her feet propped up and a glass of wine in hand. The protagonist usually describes orgasm as seeing stars behind her eyelids. She’s always thought that to be a made-up detail, but when Cassian’s finger slides into her cunt –

 _fuck._ )

“You’re so wet for me,” he says in wonder. The lewd sounds his finger makes going in and out combined with her gasps of pleasure fill the room, undeniably the noises of sex. Surely there’s going to be some sort of complaint, she thinks hazily. Her neighbors aren’t – 

When he adds another finger and rubs her clit with his thumb rhythmically with his thrusts, all thoughts go out of her mind. And when he hits _that_ spot inside of her, curling his fingers deep, it’s all she can do not to shout out her pleasure when she comes, bearing down on his hand. 

Her vision whites out, muscles clenching around him as she curses in every language she knows. So entirely overwhelmed, she can just barely make out the kisses he lines up and down her neck, the feeling of him inside of her. 

He guides her through the aftershocks, only sliding out of her when she blinks her eyes open, chest heaving. “Fuck _me,”_ she manages eloquently. 

Cheekily, he repeats her earlier remark, “That’s the goal.” 

She swats at his chest. “Just you wait,” she grumbles, throwing a haphazard arm over her eyes. “Once I muster up the energy, you’re going to get it, Andor.” 

She can feel him shift at her side. “You don’t have to, Jyn.” 

“Yeah, but I _want_ to,” she replies, turning her head to look at him and propping herself on her elbows. She studies his face, trying to gauge his reaction. She has to trust that he’ll tell her if he’s uncomfortable, but sometimes he doesn’t always directly say that in favor of going along with what he thinks she wants. “

“I’m not going to last,” he admits finally, scrunching up his face in embarrassment. “It’s, ah. It’s been a long time since I've done. . .this.” 

“Good,” she says with a shrug. “I want to make you come. And it’s not like it took me long. I was practically shouting your name as soon as you stuck your fingers inside of me.” 

“Ah, yes,” he hedges, rubbing a hand over his face. “About that. Is your apartment sound-proofed?” 

“I _hate_ you,” she groans, throwing an arm out haphazardly to thump him on the chest. 

“Do you _really?_ ” he asks teasingly. 

_“Yes,”_ she shoots back. “And now I’m going to make you come even harder than I did. How about that?” 

He gulps again, throat bobbing; Jyn’s beginning to see a pattern here. “I. . .yes. I want that.” 

With his help, their combined hands push down his pants and underwear. No longer restrained by fabric, his cock bobs upward toward his stomach, hard and red with the tip leaking precum. 

“Can I touch you?” 

“Please.” His voice is strangled. 

So not to surprise him, she reaches out gently and wraps a hand around his length and swiping her thumb over the top to coat him with wetness. As soon as she does, he groans softly, deep in his chest. She takes her time at first, letting herself get acclimated with his body, going up and down, tightening at the base, cupping his balls. 

“Jyn, fuck. . .” he mutters, eyes squeezing closed. “Your hands. Your hands are magic.” 

“Look at me,” she orders, twisting her wrist sharply. “I want to see your face when you come.” 

Immediately, his eyes snap open and meet her heated gaze. That immediate compliance is enough to send another pool of wetness between her thighs. 

Once she falls into a steady pace, it’s not long until he shouts his release, back bowing as he comes onto her hand and stomach. She waits until he’s come down completely and looks at her to raise her hand to mouth and lick her skin completely clean. 

“You’re going to kill me, Erso,” he groans again. “Fuck.” 

“Come on, lover boy,” she teases, stealing a quick kiss from his mouth before getting off the bed. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

She goes to the bathroom and washes first. She takes off her bra and underwear, tossing them into the laundry bin. One of Cassian’s shirts lays on top; she sniffs it to see how dirty it is and then shrugs, putting it on. It’s clean enough for tonight, better than her sweat-soaked clothes. 

She returns with a wet washcloth, cleaning up his chest and stomach gently. “You wanna get changed before bed?” 

“Mhm,” he agrees with a sleepy nod of his head, kicking his legs over the side of the mattress and stands up, a bit wobbly. She grabs his arm to steady him. “I’m fine, Jyn. Just worn out. I feel like I could sleep for weeks.” 

“It’s good that you don’t have work tomorrow, then,” she says cheekily, rifling through the bags she’d brought from her apartment and pulls on a pair of clean underwear. She gets back into bed just as Cassian finishes changing, taking a minute to admire his considerable physique, the muscles in his back rippling as he puts on a shirt. “Let’s sleep until noon.” 

“Lazy,” he says, climbing into bed and tweaking her nose playfully. She swats him back. “C’mere.” 

When he opens his arms to her, she reaches to the bedside table and turns off the lamp. Then, she slides into his embrace and rests her head on his bicep, breathing in deeply. 

“It feels weird knowing this is going to end soon,” she says into the darkness, shifting in his arms. “It’s been going on for so long, and to think that Krennic might be in prison in a few days. . .” 

“Whatever happens, I’m with you, Jyn.” His arms tighten around her. “You know that, right?” 

If there’s one thing that she can be sure about, it’s Cassian Andor. The mess with her father, with Krennic and Scarif – that’s all in uncertain territory. Here, laying in his arms, she feels more stable than she has in a long time. 

“I do,” she answers honestly. “And I’ve got your back too, Andor. Don’t forget that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so much for all your comments and love and support. you don't know how much it means to me! really makes me smile with each comment i read and kudos i see
> 
> next chapter: the infiltration of scarif base begins


	19. Chapter 19

“Are we dating?” 

Cassian nearly spits out his drink, only just managing to swallow it down before it goes flying across the countertop. Gingerly, he sets his glass back down before he can cause any more damage. Leave it to Jyn to shock him with her explicit bluntness – really, he shouldn’t be as surprised by this as he currently is, as it’s Jyn’s nature to speak her mind whenever she feels the need to. 

Needing more elaboration on the subject she’s just dumped on him, he dumbly asks, “What?” 

“It’s not a hard question,” she replies petulantly, shutting the door behind her with her foot. It’s early in the morning – she’s just gotten off her bar shift – but he’s not yet done with the paperwork Draven had asked for yesterday. That’s his excuse, anyway. He likes staying up late to wait for her, even if it means she’ll chastise him for not getting enough sleep. “Yes or no? Are we dating? Are you my boyfriend?” 

That doesn’t answer where this line of conversation stems from. They’ve never talked about it before so it was bound to happen, but why now, at nearly three am? “Why do you ask?” 

“This bloke was hitting on me – ” he feels a surge of jealousy at her words, “ – and I told him to piss off because I had a boyfriend. And if wanted to know if that actually was true. So.” 

The tips of his ears heat as he thinks about it. The past few weeks he’d assuming the status of their relationship, but he realizes now that they’ve never talked about it. It’s not like he’s been with anyone else since they’ve first started kissing and he doubts that she has either, but better now than never. “Do you want me to be your boyfriend?” 

Her face sours in the way it usually does when he deflects her questions; it’s a struggle to keep the corner of his mouth from quirking up into a smile. “I asked first.” 

“Well, I. . .” he swallows, cheeks and ears reddening. Closing the lid to his laptop slowly, he turns to face her fully. She stands with one of her hips jutting out, arms crossed defensively, but there’s a hint of fear in her eyes, a bit of apprehension. As if he’d ever say no to her, not after all they’ve been through together. Codependent. “I would like to be your boyfriend, if you want me to.” 

After a beat, she says firmly, “Good.” 

“Good?” He’s going to need a little more clarification from her on this one. 

“Yeah. Good. I want you to be my boyfriend.” Her nose wrinkles as she says the word. The label feels too simple for what they are – their bond is so much more than to just be boiled down to boyfriend and girlfriend. “Partner. I don’t know. We’re dating, then?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees, rolling his shoulders back. He feels lighter, happier. An easy grin curls onto his lips and he lets it. “We’re dating.” 

With that confirmed, Jyn kicks off her boots (much to his chagrin, she never places them neatly next to his) and makes her way into his apartment. She stands on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his forehead, calling over her shoulder as she heads into the bedroom, “Don’t stay up too late, lover.” 

He watches her go with a soft, adoring smile. And when he doesn’t end up finishing his report for Draven that night, he takes the scolding his superior gives him the next day with a grain of salt. 

(They’re _dating.)_

* * *

“Okay, don’t move. Just for a second – I need to adjust the waist.” 

Holding her arms above her head isn’t a difficult position to hold, especially with the amount of muscle she has in her upper body and shoulders. But what’s making it considerably less easy is the bulletproof vest she’s wearing underneath the horrible sex costume given to them from Lando’s friend – especially when she cringes each and every time the fabric touches her bare skin. 

“I hate this thing,” she grumbles, peering down at where Cassian’s kneeling and watching his progress. 

He moves on to her chest, trying to close up the deep, plunging neckline that would show off her tits if the costume was used for its intended purpose. But with armor underneath, it just looks wrong. 

In response, he mumbles through a mouthful of pins, “Mhm. . .almost done. . .There. Be careful when you – “ 

Ignoring his warnings, Jyn shucks off the uniform as quick as she possibly can – the sewing needles scratching lines up and down her arms and legs but she doesn’t care – until she’s standing in just the vest and a pair of underwear. 

Upon seeing the small drops of blood welling up on her skin when he stands, Cassian sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Really, why is he surprised? He should be used to her antics. “I don’t know what I expected.” 

She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back slightly. Because of all the intimacy she’s shared with Cassian thus far, it’s gotten easier and easier to go without clothes in front of him. Eventually, they’ll get to the point where they’re both comfortable being completely naked with each other. “You know me.” 

“I do,” he replies softly, then reaches out a hand for her to take. “C’mon. I’ll get you cleaned up..” 

“I don’t need any band-aids,” she grumbles, yet intertwines their palms because she likes warmth being close to him provides and lets him tug her into the bathroom anyway. 

She hoists herself up on the counter, humming to herself as Cassian reaches over her head to open up the cabinet behind the mirror. When he applies the antiseptic to her skin, it barely burns; she’s more focused on how close he is to her. She hooks her bare legs around his hips, tugging him nearer. 

Cassian sucks in a startled breath but his eyes darken with desire. Just to make sure of her intentions, he asks cautiously, “Jyn?” 

“You wanna know what would make me feel better, Captain?” she purrs, reaching up to raking her nails down his chest gently. 

He swallows visibly. “I have an idea, yes.” 

“Well,” she murmurs huskily, leaning up to meet his lips with hers. “Why don’t you kiss it better, then?” 

* * *

“I don’t understand,” Cassian says, frustrated. He runs a hand through his already unkempt hair and resists the urge to pace. “No one’s been assigned to the Krennic case? Draven promised – ” 

_“I already talked to him,”_ Kay cuts in. In the background, Cassian can hear the ambient sounds of the precinct. _“Since Galen Erso turned himself in, there’s no reason to go after Krennic. I’m rather inclined to agree with him. The chances of success have now decreased to – ”_

“I don’t want to hear it, Kay.” 

_“If you insist.”_ A beat goes by; Kay, unable to contain himself, adds, _“They’re bad. The odds are very, very bad, Cassian.”_

He groans. There’s a reason he never lets Kay go on and on about statistics that should be impossible for a single human to do in their brain alone; though a cynic by nature, there’s only so much negativity he can take. Don’t people have hope anymore?

(He’s trying. He’s really, really trying to have hope.)

From where she sits on the couch, Jyn looks up at him with a furrowed brow. ‘What’s going on?’ she mouthes to him, but he holds up a hand and mouthes back, ‘give me a minute,’ trying to focus on what Kay’s saying on the other end of the phone. 

“You’re still in, right? Even though it’ll be off the books?” Kay’s been his partner for years and has now become one of his closest friends. Though there’s a high risk of failure (with major consequences for all of them), he’s selfish – he doesn’t want to do this mission without Kay at his side. It would just feel wrong.

_“I will help you and Jyn because you asked me to. Not because of Jyn Erso. I do not like her enough for that.”_

His shoulders sag in relief. He hadn’t expected a negative response, but Kay’s always been a wildcard. “Thank you, Kay. I’ll reach out to Tonc and Melshi. The two of them owe me favors I could cash in.” 

_“I’m sure Kes Dameron would be willing to assist if asked,”_ Kay replies thoughtfully. Cassian can hear his fingers flying over the keyboard in front of him. _“He has proved himself to be a capable officer.”_

Though his partner can’t see him, Cassian makes a face. He won’t ask Kes to go on a suicide mission, not now that he has a child; the thought of having to tell Shara that he’d gotten her husband killed and she would have to raise Poe by herself makes bile rise up in the back of his throat. “No. He’s got a family, Kay. I can’t ask him to sacrifice all that for me.” 

Now, he realizes, the thing is that everyone going to storm the Scarif base doesn’t have that. Him and Jyn – they really didn’t have anything to lose. . .except for each other. 

Stars, the thought of losing her kills him. He’s been shot, stabbed, broken bones, but none of that hurts as much as thinking about living with her. Of losing her to the penal system, of watching the life leave her eyes, of pushing her away with his own callousness and traumas. 

A glance in her direction – her hair falling out of her bun and curling over her face, how she chews on her bottom lip in concentration, the blanket that half-sliding off of her shoulders and onto the floor. 

(If he hadn’t loved her already, it’s clear to himself that he does now.)

_“His skills would be valuable to the mission.”_

“I’m not going to ask him to do that for me,” he repeats. “Ask around the precinct if you can. See if anyone else wants to help. If it all goes well, it won’t be for nothing.” Whether that be money or a promotion or fame – he suspects that Draven will be all over this unsanctioned mission and claim he’d been behind it the whole time should it actually succeed.

 _“If you insist,”_ the other man says reluctantly, clearing disagreeing with his logic but not willing to push it further. _“I will let you know how it goes.”_

“Thanks, Kay.” 

He turns off the phone with a sigh, tossing it onto the countertop. The sound startles Jyn out of whatever spell she’s in and she glances up with wide eyes, causing him immediately regret the action. “Sorry.” 

“I take it Kay didn’t have good news?” she asks dryly, setting down his laptop safely on the cushion next to her. 

“We’re not going to get any help from the department. Men, supplies, money – none of it. Since Galen turned himself in, Draven doesn’t think chasing after Krennic is worth it anymore.” 

“Fuck,” Jyn says softly. 

He nods in agreement, exhaustion pulling down his facial features into a frown. “We’ll figure it out,” he’s quick to reply, trying to alleviate any anxiety this news might cause her. He can’t imagine the amount of stress she must be under, especially after her father turned himself in. “There are a few people in the department that owe me, so I’ll reach out later today and try to cash them in.” 

Despite his own words of encouragement, it feels as if a black hole has begun to open up in his chest. He’s failed her. When he’d told Draven about Krennic and Galen, he’d done so to secure help to take down the Empire – and now that’s off the table. What’s he good for, then? Jyn’s plenty capable, she could have planned this whole operation herself. If he can’t contribute in this way, then how is he supposed to be useful? 

He’s useless. It’s what he feared all along.

“I’m not worried,” she replies slowly, drawing out the words. “I mean, I am – but I’ve done missions with less than what we have now. It’s a big job, but we’re not completely in the dark here. We’ve got Bodhi and my father’s information, the Rebellion’s help, Lando’s friend’s sex costume. And you say Kay’s still in, and that you’re going to ask around to see if there’s anyone else. Sure, it’s not what Draven promised us, but it’s better than nothing, yeah?” 

When she lists it all out like that, the lack of resources they’re currently faced with didn’t sound as daunting. It’s still a shot in the dark but maybe a little lighter than what he’d thought.

“You’re right,” he says, leaning back against the counter. It feels as if a grey fog has descended over his brain and she’s the lighthouse leading him back to shore. Most days, it’s difficult to drag himself out of this negativity; more than once have Draven or his other superiors recommended he talk to someone – an order he’s never actually followed. “I’m sorry, Jyn. I shouldn’t. . .” 

“You should.” In one swift movement, she uncurls herself from the blanket and gets off the couch. Her feet make no sound against the floor as she walks over to him, cupping her hands around his face. “I _want_ to hear what you have to say. We’re partners, remember? Partners challenge each other. If you agreed with me all the time. . .well, maybe I would like you better – ” she grins and ducks her head so he knows it’s a joke, “but it would be boring to have no one to argue with and I like you plenty already.” 

Despite himself, he starts to smile. “Yeah?” 

“Don’t make me say it again,” she grumbles, hooking her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a hug. He buries his face in the crook of her shoulders, letting her hold him for once and basking in her warmth. “I hate this sappy shit.” 

That’s a lie and he knows it. She absolutely adores ‘sappy shit’ even if she’ll never admit it – he’s seen the way her eyes light up when he kisses her hand like a suitor in a period drama or buys her something that reminds him of her when he’s out shopping. In fact, she still has the chocolate bar he’d bought her a couple weeks ago stored in their room. She only eats one square at a time and carefully wraps it up when she’s done, wanting to savor it for as long as possible. Despite telling her that he’ll buy her a million chocolates if that’s what she wants, she doesn’t budge.

“Too bad,” he mumbles, wrapping her arms around her waist and tugging her closer. “I like this sappy shit.” 

“But really,” she says, pushing at his chest weakly, trying and failing not to smile at his behavior. “Really. I want you to tell me these things. Or at least try to.” 

“I can’t promise anything,” he warns, but at her disapproving look adds, “But I can try.” 

“Good,” she murmurs, relenting to his hug and letting him pull her to him “That’s all I ask.” 

* * *

“I don’t want to go back to Wobani.”

The words spill out of her lips before her brain even catches up with what she’s saying, her breath catches when she does. From where her head is pillowed on Cassian’s bare chest, she can feel him still underneath her at the abrupt shift in conversation. 

Where had that come from? There’s a sour taste in the back of her throat and her stomach churns. Though she’s opened up considerably with Cassian in the past few weeks, this isn’t something she ever talks about. Wobani, prison, anything relating to jail – it feels off-limits with him. Though she knows he’ll never judge her for it, she can’t help but wonder what a detective would think of the consequences of her criminal behavior. 

(Would he think that she deserved to go to prison for the things that she’d done?

No. No – he _wouldn’t._ Right?)

“I can’t promise anything. I don’t know what’s going to happen.” It’s a while before Cassian speaks, the words carefully chosen and spoken softly into the darkness. She can feel the vibrations in his chest every time he talks, her head rising up and down with each breath he takes. It’s relaxing; she lets it lull herself in a false sense of security. “But I will do whatever I can to make sure that doesn’t happen.” 

_What if that’s not enough?_ She wants to ask but clamps her mouth shut. At this point, she would just sound like a whining child. There’s only so much Cassian can do to reassure her, but she doubts any of it will assuage her fears. Only time will tell what’ll happen to them. 

“It’ll be for life,” she murmurs more to herself than to him. “Krennic’ll make sure for that.” 

She curls around him, burying her face in his neck to feel less exposed. It’s difficult to even think the words, let alone speak them out loud. He shifts the arm that’s wrapped around her back to pull her in tighter to him, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. His hands stroke soothing lines up and down her spine, his free arm reaching around to link their arms. 

“You think that he. . .?” 

“I know he did,” she mutters, understanding his question without him explicitly asking. “I had a record when they arrested me that last time, but the petty theft charge isn’t worth twenty years in a high-security labor camp. I was never supposed to get out of there. If we fuck this up and let him catch us. . .” 

Out of whatever perverted respect Krennic had for her father, she doubts he’ll be gunning for the death sentence but she won’t put it past him. He’d ordered her mother to be shot in front of her eight-year-old eyes without batting an eyelash. Look up monster in the dictionary and his picture would be right underneath it. 

(And underneath his picture would be hers.) 

“I’m glad I told Draven to get you out,” he exhales, then freezes like he hadn’t meant to say the words, stiffening beneath her, arms tightening around her back. 

Her breath catches. She scrambles out of his embrace into a sitting position. “You were the one who – ” 

It doesn’t even make sense, but when he rubs a hand over his jaw tiredly and nods once, she knows that he’s not lying. “We needed to take a harder stance on the Partisans,” he admits. “We knew that you’d broken ties with them years before you were arrested, so you wouldn’t be loyal to anyone we asked you to rat out. Out of all the former members we were considering, you had the highest rank. It took some maneuvering to get you out of Wobani, but I convinced Draven that you were our best bet.” He pauses, then adds vehemently, “And it was the _right_ decision. Regardless of what I feel for you, you’ve done a lot for the precinct.” 

Another piece of the puzzle clicks together as Jyn’s faced with another reason she owes most of the good parts of her current life to Cassian. 

She’s someone who works in favors and debts. When she owes a person, she pays them back as soon as she can, not liking the power that it gives the other to hold over her. But in this case, she doesn’t feel indebted to Cassian and doesn’t think he feels like she owes him. 

“I didn’t know that,” she tells him quietly, not sure how to properly voice her emotions. There’s always been a disconnect between her brain and her mouth; her thoughts will make sense to her but aren’t coherent when she says them out loud. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” It’s not really a secret, but she wishes she would have known. 

“I was scared you would feel. . .” his mouth curls in uncertainty, so she settles back down next to him in an attempt to be comforting. She’s here and there’s very little he could say or do to get her to leave at this point. “Indebted to me? I don’t know. You have every right to be upset, of course, but I don’t – you don’t owe me anything, Jyn. And now that we’re together, I thought maybe. . .Now that I know you aren’t dating me just because I got you out of Wobani. . .” 

“You thought I would _fake_ this?” The words are sour in her mouth. 

“No! That’s not what I meant.” 

“Then what did you mean?” 

“I wanted everything that happened between us to be without outside factors. I’m with you because I want to be with you, not because I owe you or you owe me. I should have said something, but I. . .I was scared, okay? I’ve been used before.” 

She kisses his bare shoulder, then rests her cheek down on the exposed skin. This isn’t the time to be angry and upset with him, not when he’s showing a vulnerable side she rarely gets to see. “So have I,” she whispers. “Too many times. But I would never use you, Cassian. Never.” 

“Yes, I. . .” he breathes out shakily. “I know that now. It’s taken me time to understand you, but I know that you would never do something like that to me.” 

“Good.” A beat, then – ”Can we talk about this in the morning? I’m tired.”

Her blunt words have the intended effect. Cassian chuckles, deep in his chest. “All right,” he murmurs, letting her wrap her arms around his torso and squeeze gently. “Let’s put this conversation on hold until tomorrow.” 

(Is this what a healthy relationship looks like? When they’re talking it out the next day, she admits that communication has never been apart of her romantic life before now. But it works. When both of their feelings are out in the air and they’ve worked through it together, there’s no harsh feelings between them anymore. 

It feels good. She could get used to this, she thinks.)

* * *

“How are you feeling?” 

Jyn looks at him sharply, the jut of her chin whipping through the air as she turns to face him from the passenger seat of the car. He stares forward, eyes on the Scarif headquarters in front of him, speaking to her without looking in her direction. His fingers itch to move, but he keeps them still where they’re resting against the steering wheel. The car is stopped and they’d taken off their seatbelts a few minutes prior, but neither had made a move to get out of the vehicle. 

“Jyn?” When she doesn’t answer, he turns to look at her, frowning. The anxiety of what they’re about to do has not yet been replaced by adrenaline, and for once in his life, he’s desperate to fill the silence. Usually missions don’t ride him as much as this one does, but it’s not only his life at stake. Now he has to worry about – about the woman who he. . .cares about. Strongly cares about. 

_Loves._

“You okay?” 

“I’m feeling like I’m wearing a sex costume,” she grumbles finally, slouching down in her seat, arms crossed over her chest. Even with his alterations, the Imperial custodial outfit is still a touch ill-fitting. If anyone looks close enough they’ll see how she looks like a child playing dress-up in her parents’ clothes – not that anyone is going to look twice at her, considering that she’s dressed as a service worker amidst a sea of scumbags who look down on the working class. “I don’t know if I even look the part or just like a. . .sexy janitor.” 

“You look like the real thing,” he tells her, choosing not to mention that he would find her sexy in any outfit (or lack thereof, but he’s not going there). 

“I keep imagining what kind of – ” she shudders. “What might be on here.” 

He can’t help the chuckle that escapes from his lips, tempered only by the glare Jyn shoots his way. “Leia did say she got it dry cleaned before dropping it off at the apartment,” he says unhelpfully, not knowing if that’s the actual truth – he’d just taken her word for it. “Whatever was on there before is long gone.” 

“If we get out of this alive,” he doesn’t bother to correct her with _“when”_ because he’s not even sure of their chances, “then I’m going to take a three-hour-long shower on hot.” She pauses, then looks at him with narrowed eyes, adding, “And you’re going to be joining me.” 

Like that’s something he would ever turn down. He’s nodding before she even finishes her statement, already envisioning the two of them together, warm and wet in a steam-filled room. The only reason his pants aren’t feeling uncomfortably tight right now is that they’re about to attempt to steal files from one of the most notorious companies in the world. 

(But if he thinks about it a little longer, then their current circumstances won’t be an issue anymore.)

“You’re worn worse, right?” It doesn’t mean much coming from him, not when he’s in a suit and tie and playing the role of the polished businessman. Between the two of them, he’s drawn the much better straw; the only reason he’s not the one in the sex costume is because it would be much too short on him. 

“Not by much.” That’s an over-exaggeration, he knows, can tell by the way she slides down farther in her seat, how the muscles in her cheek twitch with the effort in keeping them still. Jyn has a tendency for dramatics regarding insignificant things, so he’ll let her have this one especially if it helps her worry less about the mission to come. 

“It’s only going to be on for a couple hours,” he tries. “The sooner we get going, the sooner you can take it off, right?” 

He’s one to talk – he’s just as reluctant as she is to leave the car, not moving from his seat despite his words. Though he’s confident in the team’s collective abilities to pull this off (or die trying), pre-mission anxieties have set in deeper than he’s used to them going. This is the first (unsanctioned) operation he’s gone on since his injury a couple months ago; he’s close enough to be cleared by his physical therapist that they’d agreed (albeit reluctantly, in Jyn’s case) to let him tag along on the ground. 

And he’s. . .shit, he’s terrified. It’s one thing to admit to himself, another to admit out loud to Jyn. What if he isn’t good at this anymore? What if he fucks up something beyond repair? What if his injury, though mostly healed, holds them back? And perhaps the most pressing question: what if he fails to keep her safe?

“I guess you’re right,” she replies reluctantly. And a beat later, as if she could read his mind, she asks him the same: “How are you feeling, Cassian? There’s an awful lot of deflection coming my way.” 

There’s no point in worrying her right before what might be the biggest heist of their lives, so he deflects yet again. “I’m fine. Ready to get going. Do you want to run through the first stage of the plan again?” 

She groans. “I _know_ the plan – I helped come up with it. We’ve been over it a million times already.” 

“If you’re sure.” 

“I am.” 

“Well,” he says slowly, reaching over to unlock the door, glancing at Jyn one more time. His partner, his girlfriend, the woman he loves. Once he steps out of the car and into the building, there’s no going back. “Here goes nothing.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all SO MUCH for waiting! i'm home safe and done with finals. don't know when the next chapter will be up (we're in the home run now!) but hopefully soon <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the delay! hope the content makes up for the wait. next two chapters should be up soon, hoping to finish this fic before i go back to school in january 🥰

As soon as Cassian leaves the car, a wave of calm washes over Jyn, almost all of her anxiety leaving her body with a single, slow exhale. Now that the mission has begun, there’s no time left over for nerves or anticipation. She’s sunk into that cold, unfeeling state that Saw had taught her to best focus on getting the job done. Her true feelings can wait until she’s finished; often then, it feels as if the dam in her mind bursts all at once, an emotional aftermath that she struggles to get a hold of when she’s all alone. 

(Saw had taught her to be a soldier, but he’d never taught her how to stop eing one. She doesn’t know how.)

She watches Cassian enter the front door and disappear from her line of sight, watches the building long after he’s gone inside just to ensure his safety. There’s not much she can to do protect him sitting inside a car, but she’s not against blowing her cover just to come to his aid if necessary. Though she knows he’s a professional and has been doing this just as long as she has (if not longer), that fact alone doesn’t eliminate her worry. 

_“Jyn Erso. It’s Kay.”_

Her earpiece crackles, static turning into Kay’s familiar drone. Her heart races as she reaches her hand up to press the side button so she can be heard. “Has Cassian signaled yet?” 

The signal is simple – a fake text to the nonexistent person he’s supposed to be meeting. Kay, who’s watching from the security cameras (having hacked into them with Bodhi’s help earlier that day), will let her know when that happens. If he adjusts his tie after texting, then she’s good to go; if not, then something hasn’t gone to plan and she’s on standby. 

_“No. But I wanted to let you know that he has made it inside and spoken to the receptionist.”_ There’s a pause on the other line that has Jyn apprehensive, chewing her bottom lip as she waits for Kay to elaborate. He’s not supposed to comm them more than necessary so as not to arouse suspicion; the Empire has much better computer technicians than a single hacker in a Rebellion safehouse a few miles away, even if that human seems more robotic than most. 

_“I thought it might. . .bring you comfort to know that he is all right,”_ Kay says finally, sounding as uncomfortable as she’s ever heard him. _“I know the two of you are. . .involved.”_

“We’re a little more than involved,” Jyn shoots back, using sarcasm to hide how uncomfortable his statement has made her, all red cheeks and uncertain eyes. Her relationship with Cassian is still new, making it strange to hear about from another perspective. It’s a surprisingly kind sentiment from the other man, one that she wouldn’t have expected – she doesn’t know how to react. “You should hear the way he shouts when I – ” 

_“Thank you, Jyn Erso, for giving me details I do not want to hear,”_ Kay snarks, falling back into the usual banter that normally takes place between them. _“I am glad that I am no longer rooming with Cassian. I would have had to invest in a pair of military-grade earplugs.”_

“You’d need something stronger than that.” The words are laced with her usual bite, but her heart isn’t in it. She exhales heavily through her nose, sagging farther down in her seat and dropping her chin down to her chest. It hasn’t been that long since Cassian left the vehicle, but it feels like it’s been forever. She’s never been the most patient person, would rather rush into action instead of sitting and waiting for the right opportunity to present itself. “Kay, has Cassian – “ 

_“He’s signaled,”_ Kay interrupts, the sounds of typing in the background filtering in through her earpiece. _“You’re good to go.”_

Even before he fully gets the words out, Jyn’s opening the car down and sliding out of her seat. “Got it. Tell Bodhi the car’s ready for pick-up.” 

_“Will do. Don’t die.”_

She pauses briefly, stumbling slightly over her feet in her shock; that amount of time, however, is too much for Kay to bear. He adds, _“Not that I care. Just that it would break Cassian if something were to happen to you.”_

That has a half-smile curling at her lips, She croons back into the earpiece in a saccharine voice, “Why, Kay. I didn’t know you cared.” 

_“I don’t. I literally just said that I do not care.”_ There’s a pause on the other end of the line in what Jyn believes to be his confusion. _“Do you need me to repeat what I just said? Is your comm malfunction–”_

With a full-on smile now, she reaches up and presses the button on her earpiece to cut him off without saying anything. Though she hasn’t spent much time with him, any of Kay’s “compliments” to her end up being expressed through Cassian. Even if Kay doesn’t care much for her (and vice versa_, she’s glad that Cassian has such a loyal friend in his corner. Though neither of them will admit to ever having anything in common, there is one attribute that can be applied to both: their intense desire to protect Cassian Andor from harm even at the demise of themselves. 

Compared to some of her other missions with the Partisans, infiltrating the Scarif base would be nothing if not for the high stakes attached. This is, she muses, probably the most important heist of her career. There’s no room for error, no room for mistakes. Any single small problem will have disastrous results for her, Cassian, and the rest of the team involved. 

She walks to the building with both the confidence and exhaustion of someone who’s worked this job every day for the last week. Her face is blank when she swipes her ID badge at the door of the employee entrance, not reacting when the light flashes green. Though she knows the fake is good (she’d helped the Rebellion authenticate it herself), there’s always a chance that a high-tech computer will see through what she has created. People can be convinced and manipulated to think otherwise, technology cannot. 

Jyn eases through the back door, tilting her chin down just so. Her cap is placed low on her head, bangs obscuring her cheeks and forehead. With her slumped shoulders and noncommittal grunts in greeting when she passes another employee, she fills the role of the disgruntled janitor with ease despite the lack of recent practice. The true test of her disguise is passing in front of others in the same position, as white-collar workers tend to ignore the people who they believe to be underneath them, averting their eyes when they see her in the hallway. 

The layout of the underground floor is slightly different than what Bodhi had described to her weeks ago; though she had memorized each and every turn, her brother had admitted his lack of familiarity with the service tunnels below the headquarters. Despite that, she finds her workspace easily enough, grabbing the supplies she’ll need to fully play the part: cleaning solution, a roll of paper towels, latex gloves, and a few clean garbage bags. 

Though she wants to take the stairs two steps at a time, she forces herself to go slowly, eyes on the ground as she lumbers up to the first floor. It’s early enough in the morning that the lobby is relatively quiet, a few business people milling about but no crowds that she has to maneuver her way through. 

It’s odd that a maintenance worker would be in plain sight in a prestigious workplace like the Empire (especially not when the night shift just got off), but she doesn’t have to stay out in the open for long. All she needs to do is avoid suspicion while she changes one of the already empty garbage cans, making sure that Cassian sees her for long enough to give her signal to move onto the next step. 

Even with her chin dipped down and her posture submissive, she by no means isn’t paying attention to her surroundings. She glances up through her eyelashes, catching a glimpse of Cassian before he sees her. Despite having been with him only a few minutes ago, her breath catches at his appearance; his demeanor has completely changed from what he’d acted like in the car. Now, he fully plays the part of the snotty, greasy businessman, leaning back in a chair haughtily like he owns the place, a permanent sneer etched on his lips. He looks like the kind of guy who would drop trash on the floor and wait for a janitor to pick it up all while ignoring them. It’s the perfect disguise. 

Never before has Jyn truly seen him in his element in the way that she does now. All of the stings she’s done with the police thus far have been with Kay or other officers, as he hasn’t been cleared from physical therapy yet. She almost doesn’t recognize him, finds herself staring much longer than intended and reeling back when his eyes meet hers. Electricity sparks between them as she reaches up and adjusts her cap, the moment disappearing when the bond severs and she turns away. 

As soon as she finishes changing out the bags, she slips away from sight through the employee entrance and heads toward the service elevator. As the director of this wing of the Empire, Krennic’s office is at the top of the building; she’ll meet Cassian a few floors below, as a new investor would not immediately be working with the top man in the company. 

None of her previous aliases would realistically be working a job like this, so as Jyn waits for the elevator, she begins to create a new one to distract her wandering mind. The name on her uniform has been added to further authenticate who she’s impersonating. Alanna Goodsell. 

Going off of the name alone, it sounds like the type of person who works this job and another, all while trying to balance school and the lessons she’s taking online. She doesn’t mind her work, but it’s simply a means to an end for her. Once she gets enough money, she’ll quit and move on to what she’s more passionate about. Engineering, Jyn thinks, or computer science. She wants to work with technology and help make the world a better place. 

(It’s the kind of life Jyn secretly wishes she could have had. Hectic and stressful, yes, but with the opportunity for more.) 

The doors open, letting her out on the floor. Alanna shuffles forward, avoiding windows and gazing into occupied offices. There’s a trashcan a few feet away. Though it’s likely the night shift has already emptied it, janitors are told time and time again to make sure that the amount of garbage present is always minimal. If that means throwing away an almost empty bag, so be it. She’s just trying to do her job. 

A man lingers at the end of the hallway, pacing and generally looking disgruntled. When he spots her, his eyes flashing angrily as he points an accusing finger and barks out, “You! Come here!” 

Alanna’s head jerks up, distracting her from her task and glancing at him with wide eyes. A scared, fish out of the water look with her mouth gaping open. Why would someone of his caliber be talking to her? What could a man like him possibly want from someone like her?

“Yes, you!” The man sneers, beckoning her forward. “There’s no one else here. Would else would I be talking to?” 

She doesn’t want to, but her job here depends on it. Despite only being a janitorial position, she had to go through rigorous interviews and training processes just to get a handful of hours and a decent enough wage. There had been nondisclosure clauses, signing away her rights and promising to keep anything she oversees or hears secret. She’s heard rumors of what the Empire might be doing but doesn’t pay them any mind. It’s none of her business to go poking her nose into things she shouldn’t be investigating. 

“Sorry, sir,” Alanna stammers out, taking a few nervous steps forward. She’s not supposed to interact with the clientele here but doesn’t know what else to do. Ignoring him would probably make the situation worse. “Can I – can I help you? Sir?” 

Shit, she is so ing to get fired for this. 

“You have keys, don’t you?” The man asks, holding out a hand like he wants to take them from her. “I need to get into this room but the bastard locked me out.” 

She blinks. She hasn’t seen this man around here before, doubts that he actually belongs in this office. Swallowing nervously, she asks timidly, “Do you work here, sir?” 

“Of _course_ I don’t work here. Why would you. . .” He bites his tongue in frustration, clearly irritated that she’s not submitting to him immediately and without question. He raps his knuckles on the door, the sharp sound reverberating through the hallway. “Listen. I had a meeting with my business partner. _He_ works here and decided not to show up. There are documents that I need inside. Now that I’ve spelled it all out for you, are you going to let me in or not?” 

She chews her bottom lip nervously. She does have the key that would unlock all of the offices on this floor but doesn’t want to hand them over to a stranger. “May I see some identification, sir?” 

“Identification?” He splutters, face reddening. He looks as if he wants to reach out and strangle her. “You foolish girl. Don’t you know who I am?” 

Oh, shit. Is he someone important? Alanna has no idea who he is, has never seen him before today. She risks angering him by not handing over what he wants, but she has to abide by company policy. “Sir, I can’t just – ” 

Before she can even react, he snaps forward and inserts himself in her personal space, standing nose to nose with her. Despite the wariness she feels, she doesn’t take a step back, just jerks her chin up and stands tall. She hasn’t done anything wrong. 

(If she had looked close enough, she would have seen the minuscule smirk tugging at his lips, the way his eyes light up at her antics.)

“If you won’t give me what I want,” he hisses, eyes narrowing. When he speaks, she can feel his breath on her face. “Then perhaps I'll just report you to your supervisor, hm? I’m sure I can figure out something to tell him about your poor work ethic.” 

Alanna sucks in a quick, anxious breath. She needs this job, can’t afford to lose it because of one pretentious asshole. “I could take you to my supervisor?” she offers, trying not to let too much of her nerves show in her voice and failing when she cracks the last note. “Maybe they could get you access.” 

The man lets out a sharp breath, rubbing his hand over his face. “Sure,” he drawls sarcastically. “Why not just waste my time some more? It’s not like I have anything better to do today.” 

“We just have to. . .” Not sure how to react, she begins to walk the way she came. At the end of the hall, she awkwardly gestures to the elevator and presses the up button. Thankfully, the doors open almost immediately; walking into the lift, Alanna presses herself to the corner and tries to take up the least amount of space possible. 

When the doors close and they have a moment of privacy, Jyn pounces. 

She presses him back against the wall, leg slotting in between his. Her hands go to his lapels, tugging him down until his lips meet hers. She needs to feel like herself again, needs to shake off the character she’d adopted and become herself again. In her opinion, the best way to do this is to kiss Cassian until she forgets everything about Alanna Goodsell and can focus on nothing but his touch. 

Cassian groans into her mouth, his hands cupping her cheeks and tugging her closer for a second before he pushes her away, panting. “We can’t,” he breathes, panting slightly. Even though they’d only been touching for a few seconds, he looks disheveled and ravished. “There might be cameras in here.” 

It had been an impulsive move – a mistake – but one that’s easy to fix with the team they’ve put together. Jyn takes a few steps back to put space in between them, reaching up to her earpiece. “Kay? Wanna take care of that video for me?” 

_“I don’t want to, but I will,”_ comes the grumbled response. _“Cutting the feeds now. I will also ensure that no one can access this elevator. I would appreciate not seeing that kind of. . .display again, Jyn Erso. Cassian, please tell her to keep her hands to herself.”_

“Jyn,” Cassian says with a quirk of his lips. “Keep your hands to yourself.” 

“Yes, sir,” she purrs, licking her lips as she says it. The conversation is so unlike anything that Alanna would say that it does the trick of snapping Jyn back into her mind and body. “Whatever you say, sir. Can I do anything else for you, _sir?”_

He groans, head tipping back and thudding against the metal wall of the elevator. “Why haven’t we started moving yet?” 

“You have to press the button,” Jyn replies dryly, darting forward and doing it herself. “What would you do without me, Captain?” 

His response is quiet compared to the hum of the machine, so soft that she almost has to strain to hear it. “I don’t even want to think about it.” 

For the second time in the past two minutes, she indulges herself. Eliminating the gap between them, she leans her head on his chest and basks in his warmth. One of his arms wraps around her back, holding her to him. It’s only for a moment – when the doors open once again, the two have separated. 

The only office on the floor is Krennic’s. This is one of the trickier parts of their plan. According to Galen’s thoughts regarding the other man’s schedule, he often spent this part of his morning in meetings with the other high-ranking officers under his command. Unless they’ve gotten the timing wildly off, they should be early enough to sneak in undetected and leave in the same manner. 

The scene downstairs had been to erase suspicion. Cassian, under the guise of being here for a meeting, wouldn’t have gone straight to the top floor without checking in someone else’s office. And if Jyn hadn’t at least made an effort to do her job, it would have aroused attention. And, if going by Bodhi’s and Galen’s experiences within headquarters, the confrontation between them is nothing unusual. If it had garnered any attention, it would have met with rolled eyes and nothing more; nobody would be opening their doors and poking their heads out to see what had been going on. In this particular circumstance, making a scene had been a safer option than two unfamiliar people trying to sneak up and down the staircases undetected. 

When they leave the elevator, the floor is silent. If there is a receptionist here to take phone calls or answer emails, they’re not here now; Jyn and Cassian share a look when they pass the empty desk, both wondering if this a sign to leave immediately. However, Kay hasn’t commed with warnings of people moving toward them and they’re in much too deep to stop now. If they lose this chance, there might not be another one like this in the future. 

Krennic’s office – if this ostentatious display could even be called that – is a shameful display of his wealth. Jyn turns up her nose at the leather chair, the marble countertops, the gold-plated _everything_. This kind of money could help so many people, but instead, it’s been used for this. 

Perhaps the worst part of his office is the wall of windows that looks out across the area around the building. The Scarif headquarters, though still within the city limits, is towards the edge of Coruscant. Looking out at them, she can’t help but scowl. It’s so impractical to have this many pieces of glass stacked on top of each other. By the way his desk faces toward the door, he works every day with his back to the city. It would be so easy for someone to attack him, one well-timed shot – 

“Jyn,” Cassian urges quietly, having already moved behind the desk and turned on the computer. “Come on. We don’t have much time.” 

She shakes herself, reminding herself of the task at hand. She walks over to where Cassian’s standing, shifting so she can get a better look at the screen. Krennic’s firewalls are good, but she’s better; all of the hacking and splicing skills Saw had taught her never coming in handy more ntil now. She’s out of practice, so it takes longer than she would like, but with a few muttered curses and her fingers flying over the keyboard, she manages to get access to his documents. 

Next to her, Cassian swears softly underneath his breath. She scrolls through them quickly, eyes scanning each name briefly. Her stomach sinks. They don’t have time to go through each and every page to look for evidence, and her father hadn’t given any insight as to what the Death Star plans would have been under – 

Oh. 

“It’s this one,” she breathes, voice shaking. Her cursor hovers over the name uncertainly, looking at Cassian. “I know it’s this one.” 

“Stardust?” he reads questioningly, looking at her in confusion. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her face, but can’t force herself to look away from the computer screen. “That doesn’t sound like what we’re looking for. We should just – ” 

“No,” she interrupts with certainty. “I know because it’s me, Cassian.” 

And with that, she clicks on the document. 

What opens before them proves that maybe her luck hasn’t run out. The first page doesn’t have any important information on it, but as she scrolls through the rest, she finds details that would put Krennic in jail for the rest of his sorry life. Her fingers shake on the mouse, gut coiled in anticipation. They’ve done it. They’ve actually fucking done t. 

“This is it,” she whispers. She wants to jump up in the air and whoop, to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him heartily, but time is of the essence. “Cass, this is it.” 

“Shit. . .” Cassian shakes his head in disbelief. “You know, I never thought we’d actually do it. That we would _find_ it and. . .” 

She would make a jab about his lack of faith if she hadn’t felt the same way. All the months of planning have been building up to the conclusion – it almost feels unreal, like she should pinch herself to make sure that this isn’t a dream. 

“We’re not done yet,” she reminds herself, rolling her shoulders. With a few clicks, she begins to download the PDF and opens up a new window. “I’ll send email this off to Leia. You’ve got the flash drive, yeah?” 

Without a word, he passes her the drive from his pocket which she sticks into the port on Krennic’s computer. “I’ll get looking for more evidence,” he tells her. “We’re going to need everything we can find if we want charges against him to stick.” 

Nodding in agreement, she types in Leia’s email address and sticks the download in the message box. With the size of the document, it’s going to take at least a few minutes to fully attach itself to the email. In the subject box, all Jyn types in is “Hope” – because that’s what this is. It’s _hope._

They’re almost done – all they have to do is send the email, download the document onto the drive as an extra precaution, wipe the evidence of their tampering, and get out of there. They’re almost done when the door to the office bursts open, and in walks Krennic and an armed guard. 

“It seems that I was right to be suspicious,” the man in white muses, speaking more to himself than anyone else in the room. “Good thing I came up early, hm?” 

Jyn freezes at the sound of his voice, her mind throwing her back into her memories. Her mother dying. Her father being taken. Her being left alone in the rain. Alone, abandoned, alone. Gunshots ring in her ears. The only thing that keeps her in the present is Cassian’s touch, his hand on her lower back; she hadn’t even registered his movement until he was right beside her. 

“What do we have here?” Krennic practically croons, brushing his fingers against the weapon at his hip. The guard has already pulled out and raised his gun, pointed in their direction. “Two little thieves trying to pry into all my secrets?” 

Quick as a whip, he lashes out and snatches the flash drive from the computer, severing the connection. Imperceptively, Jyn’s eyes dart down to the email, where the attachment is still downloading onto the server. Only a minute more. . .it just needs a minute more. . .

“Now that I’ve stopped you from transmitting this,” he wags the drive at them like a finger, as if he’s shaming naughty children, “I have to decide _what_ I am going to do with you. Spending time in jail might not be punishment enough. Hm. . .perhaps I’ll just have to shoot you both and be done with it.” 

The thought of Cassian getting hurt makes her impulsive, a streak of protectiveness surging through her body like lightening. “You shoot us, then you’re the one going to jail,” she cuts him off. “We’re both unarmed.” 

Krennic brushes her off. “That’s a problem easily fixed.” 

Before she can even react, Krennic pulls out his handgun and shoots his guard in the foot. The other man crumples to the ground, groaning in pain, the smell of gunfire and blood permeating the air. Jyn almost gags at the surprise of it all. 

“Shame that he got hurt in the line of duty,” he says in mock-sadness, clucking his tongue and looking down at his guard with a shake of his head. Cassian’s hand curls into the back of her shirt, almost as if he wants to hold her back from lunging across the desk to attack. She wants to. She wants so badly to gouge his eyes out with her fingernails – 

“I cannot believe that you just shot that innocent man. Now, when I do this,” he swings around and aims the gun at her, “it will be in self-defense.” 

“We didn’t – ” 

“Who are they going to believe?” Krennic asks softly, a smile curling onto his lips. “A high-ranking officer in one of the most successful businesses in the world or a lowly thief?” 

Then multiple things happen all at once. 

Jyn clicks the send button just as Krennic fires off two shots, both at her – she dodges one, but that stray bullet shatters the glass windows behind her and Cassian. The email goes through, Cassian pushes her to the side. 

Cassian – Cassian takes the bullet meant for her in the shoulder. He stumbles back, a pained moan slipping from his parted lips – a sound she'll remember for the rest of her life. When she reaches out to catch him, the wind whipping the tears from her eyes, she’s too late, too slow. Her fingertips brush the front of his suit and nothing more. 

Cassian falls and she's powerless to stop it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember this fic is tagged angst **with a happy ending**!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're just gonna pretend that the scarif headquarters isn't as tall as we all thought it would be and it's reasonable to survive that fall ;)

Cassian doesn’t remember hitting the ground. 

He knows he’d shoved Jyn out of the way and took in a bullet in his shoulder meant for her – knows that because he can feel the wound throbbing in his shoulder – knows that he’d stumbled back out of Krennic’s office and tripped out the window. He can recall the feeling of the wind whipping through his hair, the panic rising up in his chest because he’s falling again and it’s too much like the last time and Jyn’s up there alone and he’s going to either get hurt beyond repair or die when he lands – 

_Jyn._ He needs to get up, needs to get back into the building and get her out. Just because he had been lucky enough to survive doesn’t mean that she had – just because he hasn’t heard the gun go off for a second time doesn’t mean that Krennic hasn’t shot her too. 

Reaching up, a shaky hand goes up to his ear, searching for his comm; he remembers Kay’s voice telling them too late that Krennic had entered the room, remembers his partner asking what’s going on and cursing that the cameras in the office had gone out. . .of course. He blinks rapidly, coming to another realization. During his fall, he’d lost his earpiece – now he has no way to contact the rest of the team and let them know that he’s survived. 

A breath stutters in his lungs, painful but not hindered by fluid or blood, proving that at least there’s one positive in this abysmal situation. He’s had enough broken ribs to recognize that fucking awful ache and it doesn’t seem like any of the bones have punctured any important organs. As he regains a better sense of consciousness and his surrounds, he’s – _fuck_ , he’s stuck in some sort of bush, like the sort that appears in a manicured garden that only rich Imperial douchebags would want in their front yard. 

Before he can think about the pain that it might bring, he wheezes out a laugh at the incredulousness of his survival. For a second, he’s thankful for the waste and excess that the Empire flaunts so often; in this case, it’s saved his kriffing life. 

Luckily, he’s relatively close to the ground. As much as he doesn’t want to, Cassian forces his momentum to the side, rolling back and forth until he lands in a heap, groaning as the motion sends sharps of agony throughout his body, immediately reminding him of the bullet wound in his shoulder as a fresh wave of pain passes over him, forcing him to close his eyes just to ride it out. 

Prodding at it with a half-numb fingers, it seems that the bullet has gone through and through. A small mercy, even if the amount of blood staining his suit concerns him. His leg feels off – the one he’d injured about a year ago, the damned wound that had never healed right – but the chronic pain he’s suffered ever since the accident now makes it easy to ignore how the wound flares up when he shifts it. Though he doubts it’s broken, he knows that it’ll reset his progress in physical therapy. He can kiss getting back onto active duty anytime soon goodbye. 

But besides his ribs, the pain in his back is the most worrying. There’s something wrong with his back – he can tell now that he’s shifted from his original landing position. He tells himself that since he can move all his limbs correctly it can’t be _that_ bad, but whenever he shifts his bones grate and rub against each other in a way that makes him think the internal damage is much greater than what he can currently comprehend. 

_Fuck._ Cassian lets his head thump against the ground, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. What is he supposed to do now? Even laying here hurts more than he would ever admit. He’s done so much but there’s still so much left to do and he can’t do any of that, not in this condition. 

It only reifies all of the self-deprecating thoughts he’s had about himself recently: he’s _useless_. The first job since his accident and he’s fucked it up by proving that he couldn’t even hold his own damn weight in the field. Look up failure in the dictionary and there would be a picture of him underneath the definition. He should have known better, should never have risked Jyn’s mission and livelihood by coming along – 

_No._ A voice that sounds suspiciously like Jyn’s cuts through his mind, slicing into those thoughts and shredding them to ribbons. If someone were to talk to him in the way he’s currently talking to himself, she would tear that person apart without hesitation. Though guarded, she’s never shied away from giving him compliments when he needs them most. Just the other day, she’d told him that he’s one of her favorite people in the whole wide world and had defended that untruth ( _fact,_ imaginary-Jyn reminds him mentally) until he’d kissed her quiet. 

If Jyn had the power to read minds (and he’s glad she doesn’t – she would be too powerful) and was with him now, she would give him a _look_ that tells him she’s angry and sad and disappointed if she knew what he thought of himself in times like these. He’s not exactly sure _how_ she would react, if she would try to convince him otherwise or just wrap him up in a hug, but regardless, he hates upsetting her and would do anything to prevent it. 

It doesn’t totally erase the feelings of uselessness, but it’s something to distract him from the mental and physical pain. If he can’t get up for himself, then he needs to get up for Jyn. He can’t leave her alone up there with Krennic – hell, he doesn’t even know if she’s even _alive_ anymore. He’d taken one bullet for her, but that doesn’t mean Krennic can’t fire again. His heart lurches at the thought, stomach dropping far down into his gut. The adrenaline that comes alongside it is enough for him to pull himself into a sitting position without too much agony. 

Turns out thinking about his loved one hurt – or worse – is one hell of a motivator. It doesn’t matter how many bones are broken or out of place, he has to get up for Jyn. 

* * *

Jyn can’t breathe. 

Her lungs are too tight, chest constricted. All she can do is take little sips of air, one after another. Her skin feels like it’s stretched too thin, her insides ready to burst at the seams. This can’t be happening, this isn’t real, but when she pinches herself hard enough to draw blood nothing happens, she doesn’t wake up she’s not asleep she doesn’t wake up she’s awake. 

She’s too far away from the window to see exactly where Cassian landed, but her eyes are glued to the spot from which he fell. She doesn’t dare move any closer, both not to draw Krennic’s attention and risk taking a glimpse of what’s happened on the ground below. Her mind has already conjured up dozens of horrifying ways that Cassian met his end – she doesn’t need to see the reality of the situation, knowing that it would be worse than anything she could ever imagine. 

It’s all she can do not to choke on a sob or sag to the ground like a puppet whose strings have been cut – her knees weaken, shaking so badly she has to lock them to prevent them from giving out. Though she tries to keep her face blank, emotion slips through the cracks in her mask; hardened eyes with a touch of sorrow, mouth drawn in a thin line but a frown forcing it ever so slightly downward, tight lines around her brows and cheeks. 

Kay says something in her earpiece, but she can’t hear it over the buzzing in her head and the thrumming of her heart. Krennic’s talking too, but no sound can cut through the roaring in her blood – all she can see is his mouth moving silently, forming words that she can’t understand. 

But when the gun gets waved in her face again – the same weapon that killed Cassian – all of the noise in her body quiets, the only sound being her labored breathing that she desperately tries to suppress in the face who’s ruined her life in more ways than one. She can’t show weakness, but it’s difficult not to when all she feels is weak right now. 

Cassian is _gone._

“Back with me, yes?” Krennic says airily, steady hand despite the damage that he’s already caused. “Terribly hard losing a partner. Believe me, I’ve been there far too many times. I’ll admit, I didn’t think that he’d just _fall_ out the window! A bit anticlimactic, don’t you think?” 

For a moment, Jyn sees red. Her fingers itch at her side, tapping a pattern against her thigh as a haze obscures her vision. Though it’s obvious he’s trying to goad a reaction out of her, she wants to give in anyway. To punch him square in the jaw for the things he did to Cassian and the way he’s talking about her partner now. 

What’s the harm in it? The mission is done. Krennic has the flash drive but the computer in front of her says the email was sent; there’s no point in wiping her history now that he’s aware that she’s tampered with his device. It would be so easy to lunge forward despite the gun in his hand and the desk between them – 

Surprisingly, it’s Kay that draws her back to reality. 

_“Jyn Erso. I have eyes in the room again. I need you to. . .”_ There’s a deep breath on the other end of the line, stuttered and choked. A long pause before Kay’s able to speak again in a more coherent manner. _“You have to get out of there. Don’t do something reckless because you. . .just run. Do your best to get out of there before anyone else gets hurt. Just get out of there.”_

There shouldn’t be any more casualties; though she wants to be reckless and impulsive because of what’s happened in the past few minutes, she can’t do that to her family and friends. In the wake of Cassian’s – Cassian’s accident, everyone is going to need all the support possible. How would Kay deal with two losses? How would Bodhi react, or even Shara and Kes, who she only has a burgeoning (if any) relationship with? No, she can’t afford to be selfish – she needs to get out of here as unharmed as possible if only to honor his memory. 

(He wouldn’t want her to throw her life away just because he’s gone.)

Still, she’s never been good at allowing someone else to get the last word in an argument. “You’ve lost,” she spits out, malice dripping from her lips. “The Rebellion has the Death Star plans – I’ve already sent them out. Soon everyone will know what you’re doing here.” 

Instead of reacting with violence and anger as she’d expected, Krennic just cocks his head to the side in confusion, brows pulling together. “Who are you?” he asks. “Why are you here?” 

“You know who I am. I’m Jyn Erso. Daughter of Galen and Lyra.” She takes great satisfaction in watching realization dawn on his face, the slight parting of his lips and shoulders drawing back. “Don’t you remember me, _Uncle Orson?_ I’m here to finish what my father started. You’ve. Lost.” 

To the guard still cowering on the ground – his hands pressed against the wound in his foot to stem the bleeding – Krennic snaps, “Get up and tell someone to turn off the fucking Internet right now – ” 

Though clearly in pain, the guard struggles to get up and fails. Krennic makes an exasperated noise, going to the door and presumably getting the attention of the other security posted there. Two more unfamiliar faces enter the room and pick up their fallen comrade, hauling him to his feet. 

“Sir – ” 

“The order stands,” the man in white repeats through his teeth, jaw clenching more with every syllable. “Jam the signal and scrub any emails that have been sent out of this building in the last hour. _Now.”_

Once the two of them are alone, Krennic turns to her once again. His hand, she notices now, wavers as he holds the gun up. “The shield is up, your signal will never reach the rebel base. I lose nothing but time. You, on the other hand, will die with your partner. A pity you won’t be alive long enough to witness the fall of the Rebellion.” 

“It’s too late,” she repeats one more time, looking over her shoulder at the ground below, at the only door in the office. Wind whips through her hair, untangling her bun and sending her bangs flying. There’s only one escape plan that she can think of that doesn’t end with a bullet to the head. “The email has already gone through. You’ve lost, Krennic.” 

And with that, she takes a running leap and jumps out the broken window. 

Her heart lurches into her throat as she falls, eyes watering as the wind whistles past her, the December air biting and cold against her skin. Vaguely, she can make out the sound of Kay shouting something in her earpiece, but her focus is on landing in a way that doesn’t break every bone in her body. 

The ground rushes up quickly to meet her; she shifts her weight to the balls of her feet, moving her arms up to protect her head and neck in case she doesn’t land upright. There’s a garden right underneath her, so she tilts her body slightly in that direction, hoping to soften her collision with a well-manicured bush or two. 

And then she hits the ground. 

Most of the impact absorbs into her feet as planned, but it still feels like all of the bones in her lower half have shattered. She staggers forward, stumbling with the momentum, but manages to keep herself upright; with a few more wobbly steps, however, she nearly falls flat on her face. It’s not the tallest building she’s ever jumped off – far from it – but she always forgets the intense pain that comes alongside falling from a great height. 

Collapsing to her knees, she manages to hide behind one of the hedges in case Krennic’s got some sort of sniper looking to ensure that she hadn’t survived the crash. For a few seconds, she lets herself breathe, rubs her hands up and down her calves in an attempt to make sure that nothing is too damaged beyond repair and to get the blood flowing once again. 

Her comm has miraculously somehow stayed in her ear. For a second, she almost calls Cassian to tell him that she’s still alive, but then she remembers. With her stomach dropping, she instead tunes into Kay’s frequency to start planning her escape. 

When she pings in, Kay’s swearing up and down a blue streak; her mouth almosts drops at the unfamiliar words spilling out of his mouth. _“You better not be dying right now,”_ he snaps at her, worry making his anger stronger. _“I swear, Jyn Erso. You better be alive – ”_

“I’m fine,” she manages, panting slightly. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, making her bangs stick to her face. “I’m not dead, at least. Listen, I need to get out of here – ” 

_“Finally you’re seeing reason – ”_

“Call Bodhi and tell him that I need him to pick me up closer to the headquarters,” she interrupts, no time for bickering. “I don’t know how far I’ll be able to walk and I can’t risk getting caught. Have you heard from her Highness?” 

_“Not yet, but the email went through.”_ Though it’s confirmation of what she already knows, it’s a relief to hear it from another person. Her shoulders sag, the burden of their mission being lifted from her body. She doesn’t even have to do anything else or even _survive_ – she’s done. Her job here is over. _“Bodhi’s on his way. He’s going to meet you a few blocks closer than planned.”_

“Tell him not to risk anything,” she responds, shaking her head. She needs to get moving, get off her ass before Krennic sends security guards after her. Shakily, she begins to stand, using one of the hedges to keep her balance. Her vision swims, a wave of dizziness passing over her. “If he feels unsafe, we can figure something else out.” 

_“I will pass it along to him,”_ Kay says. _“Good luck, Jyn Erso. I will do my best to warn you if anything else happens.”_

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” she tells him abruptly, hearing an undertone to his words that suggests something is off with him. Though she’s not the best at comforting, she feels the need to at least try. “What happened with Cassian wasn’t your fault. Krennic knew that we were in his office, he must have messed with the camera feeds or something. There wasn’t anything else you could have done.” 

_“I. . .”_ he trails off. _“Thank you, Jyn Erso.”_

There’s a click on the other line signaling that he’s hung up on her. Red colors her cheeks, feeling uncertain and uncomfortable with his gratitude. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s hers – he’d taken a bullet in her shoulder meant for her head. She should have done more to prevent it from happening, should have shoved Cassian away when he’d shoved her away, should have stopped Krennic from ever shooting in the first place. 

But there’s no point in dwelling on it, not when she can’t do anything about it now. Instead, she starts to crawl out of the garden, doing her best to stay out of view. Every inch forward hurts more than the last, jarring her injured calves and feet. It’s hard to move anything on her lower half; though she doesn’t think anything is broken, she’s definitely done a number to her bones, the ache likely lasting for days even with painkillers. 

Once she’s managed to skirt the edge of the building, she forces herself up on her feet. It’s much quicker and more efficient to walk out of here on two legs, especially when she notices the increase of guards spilling out of the headquarters. It won’t be long until they find her, so she has to be fast. 

A near-hysterical laugh almost spills out of her lips, forcing her to slap her hand over her mouth to muffle it. What’s the point of even trying to get away? She’s hurt, can’t move fast enough to escape, and Cassian is – 

“Jyn? Jyn!” 

And now she’s hallucinating; at least it’s only auditory – the bad ones are usually visual. Though she doesn’t think she hit her head when she’d fallen, one of the symptoms of a concussion is memory loss. She could have knocked it against the ground pretty badly and wouldn’t even remember doing so. 

“Jyn. . .?” The voice is a little more hesitant now that she hasn’t responded. It’s hoarse, but undeniably his; the sound of it tugs at her heartstrings, makes tears pool in the corner of her eyes. She wants to throw up. “Jyn, can you hear me?

“I can hear you just fine,” she snaps, sick and tired of this bullshit that her mind has conjured up. Though she tells herself not to indulge in this fantasy (because Cassian’s gone and he’s not coming back), she can’t help herself. “Now leave so I can fucking get out of here without a distraction.” 

The voice – she refuses to label it as _his_ – speaks again, so gentle this time. Her eyes squeeze shut, her heart clenching and stomach dropping. “Jyn, just turn around. Please.” 

“I don’t want to.” She can’t – she can’t. This is a bad idea, she shouldn’t have responded in the first place it’s only going to get worse and then she won’t be able to get away and when she turns around and sees nothing she won’t be able to get out because of how hard she’ll be crying – 

“Please, Jyn? Just turn around for me. I know it’s hard, but. . .please.” 

God help her, she does it. What she sees is so much worse than empty air. 

Cassian stands in front of her, bruised and battered. The moisture in her eyes makes him barely visible, warped and shimmering before her gaze. He’s not how she last remembers seeing him – there’s a significant limp in how he moves, a bloody wound in his shoulder, one of his arms wrapped loosely around his torso. 

A choked sob breaks free from her throat. One shaky hand rises up to her face, stopping at her chest to grasp her kyber crystal. “You’re not real,” she croaks, pressing down on the small flame of hope that rises up inside of her. “I saw you fall. You’re dead. You’re not real.” 

“I promise I’m real,” he urges. “I survived the fall. I feel like shit but I’m alive. I don’t know how to. . .” Slightly unsure, he holds out his free arm, taking another step forward.

She doesn’t truly believe him until she touches him, feels the warmth from his skin and the solidness of his body beneath her fingers. Her brain couldn’t make up the way it feels to hug him, the silent strength in the way he holds her, the safety that envelopes her when she’s in his arms and his arms alone. This is real, he’s alive – injured, yes, but _alive_ – 

Her knees give out, sending her falling to the ground and taking Cassian with her. They end up in a pile of limbs, curled around each other in a hug so tight it takes her breath away. She doesn’t realize she’s hyperventilating until Cassian starts rubbing soothing circles on her back, murmuring into her ear that she needs to breathe or she’ll pass out. 

“Deep breaths, Jyn,” he whispers, tolerant of the pain she must be putting him through when she lurches forward and clutches the front of his shirt. He sounds close to a panic attack as well, heart racing beneath her grip; it’s at this moment that she realizes that he’d probably thought her dead too, having no idea if Krennic shot her or not after he’d fallen. “You can do it. I’m here, you’re here. We’re both alive. I just need you to breathe, okay?”

After a few minutes, she manages to slow her breathing to a reasonable rate. She eases her white-knuckled hold on his shirt, leaning back slightly; she doesn’t miss the way Cassian flinches at the movement. 

“Shit,” she mutters, glancing down at her shirt. Some of the blood from his wound has stained her clothing. She reaches forward, presses her hand against the wound to try and staunch the bleeding; clearly, keeping himself from bleeding out hasn’t been one of Cassian’s priorities. “We need to get going. You need a doctor. Why didn’t you go and get help?” 

A half-smile quirks at the corner of his mouth. “I couldn’t leave you up there by yourself, now could I?” 

He could have. He absolutely could have and he knows it. Everyone else probably would have, would have assumed that they could do nothing to help her without dying. Cassian, uncaring about whether or not he could live or die, had decided to come back for her at the detriment to his health. 

_Stars,_ she loves him. 

“Nerfherder,” she mutters fondly, angrily scrubbing the tears off her cheeks. Cassian makes a sound of protests in his throat, reaching up to wipe them for her. “Come on. Bodhi’s waiting for us.” 

Leaning forward, he kisses her softly on the forehead, resting his head against hers for a second. She breathes in deeply, remembering this moment, the peace and safety she feels when in his presence. 

Then he shifts back, steeling himself. His eyes harden, likely in anticipation of the discomfort standing will bring. “Help me up?”

She gets to her feet first, clumsily and not without pain. Before Cassian can say anything about it, however, she hauls him up and wraps one of his arms around her shoulders, taking as much as his weight as she can. She won’t be able to carry him, so she needs him to stay awake for as long as possible.

“You’re hurt,” he accuses as they start forward.

“Jumping off a building will do that,” she grunts. 

“You – you _what?_ Jyn. . .” 

“Jumped off the building, yeah.” The agony in her lower half flares up at the memory. “Look, there’s no point dwelling on it.” 

“All right,” he huffs, sounding more out of breath than a few seconds ago. That pushes her to increase their pace. “But I’m. . .going to kill you for it. . .later.” 

“Holding you to that,” she shoots back, because if he’s thinking about later then he’s in the right headspace to survive this. If the one thing that pushes him to fight to stay alive is the want to yell at her later, then she’ll sit and let him scream for as many fucking hours as he wants (and she’ll even act properly chastised for as long as she can without rolling her eyes in exasperation)! 

With the number of guards that have flooded the complex, it takes them a good amount of time to get to the meeting spot.

Finally – _finally!_ – they reach Bodhi’s car. Her brother scrambles out of his car to greet them, clearly not expecting Cassian’s presence. He lurches forward, enveloping the two of them in a hug. “You’re – you – the both of you!” 

“Easy, Bo,” she says, easing him off of them. Paranoid, she looks over her shoulder to make sure that they haven’t been followed. “We gotta get out of here.” 

“Jyn, I. . .” Cassian sags against her, much more than he had before. Now that they’ve reached Bodhi’s car, all of the strength has left him sapped from the effort it’s taken to get him here. “Jyn. . .” 

With her injuries, she can’t haul his entire weight into the backseat without help. Seeing this, her brother gets out of the front seat and takes half (most) of Cassian’s weight. Together, they manage to get him in the backseat with minimal pain, though her heart clenches each time he groans with the way they’re manipulating him. 

Jyn slips into the car next to him, not bothering to buckle her seatbelt when Bodhi starts the car and begins to speed away. Slowly, Cassian drops lower and lower until his head is pillowed on her lap. Gently, she begins to comb her fingers through her hair, shushing him softly. The grey pallor to his face and the sweat beading upon his upper lip worries her. Has he survived for this long only to die in her arms? “Jyn, I can’t. . .” 

“Shh,” she soothes, smiling sadly down at him when his eyelids flutter closed. “You did so well, love. You can rest now. I’ll take care of you. There you go. Rest, love.” 

Almost as if by magic, as soon as she says the words Cassian sinks into unconsciousness. Glancing up, Jyn meets Bodhi’s worried eyes in the rearview mirror. Pain and exhaustion are beginning to catch up with her, too. “Bo,” she says calmly, leaning her head back against the seat and closing her eyes. She’s so, so tired. There’s still so much she has to do, but it certainly can’t hurt if she takes a quick nap to recharge her energy. “Get us to a hospital. And call Kay, too. Let him know what’s going on.” 

Though it’s a bad idea to be in a public place after performing a heist, she won’t let Cassian die. He needs professional help, not a first-aid kit in a safehouse. Krennic can do his worst to them – he’s already tried and they had survived that. 

Darkness takes her. She welcomes it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next thing i'll be posting is my rcss on the 26th, but i'm hoping to finish this up before i go back to school! the last chapter will (hopefully) wrap everything up<3 thank you all as always for reading
> 
> happy holidays everyone!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am SO nervous to post this bc it's the end!! but i hope you enjoy!! i love you all dearly!

Cassian wakes to the sound of beeping.

It’s a sound he knows all too well from numerous hospital stays, the incessant shrill noise that manages to annoy him after only a few seconds of consciousness. He can already feel a headache forming, dulled only by the massive amount of pain medicine that must be currently in his system. 

His eyes open slowly, trying to crack off the crust that’s built upon his lids by rapidly blinking it away. When he tries to reach up and wipe them with his palm, his arm catches on the wire that’s keeping him connected to the heart rate monitor. Turning his head to the side, he finds the spot in which the machine is plugged into the wall. Maybe if he stretches out far enough, he might be able to turn it off without leaving his bed – 

“Don’t mess with that!” A sharp voice interrupts his plotting to get out of the hospital undetected. Stupid – he hadn’t even noticed that he isn’t alone in the room. Slowly, to keep him from getting dizzy in moving too fast, he looks to the left, half-expecting to see a disgruntled nurse and coming face-to-face instead with – 

_Jyn._

He scrambles to sit up so he can see look her over, to make sure that she’s not injured or in danger; immediately, however, gentle hands push him back down onto the bed. A muffled groan of pain slips out of his lips, his eyes closing as his vision whites out for a second behind his eyelids.

(¡ _Mierda!_ That fall has really done a number on him.)

“Shit, sorry,” Jyn says apologetically, sounding only a _little_ remorseful. “I didn’t mean to do that but _stars,_ you are the worst patient.” 

“Pretty sure that. . .statement. . .applies to you,” he manages, struggling to even out his breathing. The heart rate monitor starts to beep a bit quicker at his distress, but he manages to wrangle his body back into a level of calm so as not to alert any of the hospital staff. Once he’s back in control, he opens his eyes and glances at her again. There’s a desperation in his voice when he speaks next. What if all of it had been for nothing? What if they had – he needs to – “The plans. Did Leia get the plans? Jyn – ” 

“The email went through,” she tells him quickly. The relief of that knocks the air out of his lungs; he exhales, shuddered and painful. “She’s got all the information and is working on getting it to the right people. Draven, the rest of the Council – the important types. No arrests have been made yet.” 

“What does Leia think will happen?” 

“That it won’t take down the entire Empire, but it’s a start. It should be enough information to pin on Krennic. It _has_ to be.” 

He doesn’t know the answer, doesn’t know what the outcome will be. Despite what should be considered damning evidence, it can get knocked out of a court with a good enough lawyer – the kind of lawyer that a rich douchebag can afford. In that case, Krennic might get off with only a few years in prison and a hefty fine. 

But they’ve got Leia Organa on their side. If she can spread the word to the right people and create enough public uproar about the Death Star plans, they might have a fighting chance. 

“There’s nothing else we can do," he tells her. "We have to hope that what we've done is enough.”

Judging by Jyn’s dubious look, she doesn’t believe a word of what he’s saying, but that’s okay. He has hope for the both of them – the events of the last week wouldn’t have even happened without it. He decides to change the topic, moving on to the next most important subject: her physical wellbeing. “You okay?” 

She looks uninjured, but he wants verbal confirmation. After all, he hasn’t forgotten the way she’d limped back to Bodhi’s car or the various other wounds she’d likely chosen to hide from him. Though she’s not in a hospital gown like he is, he’s surprised to see that she’s still wearing the sex costume; when she’d told him that she would take it off immediately once the mission ended, he hadn’t expected ever to lay eyes on it again. 

“You’re the one lying in the bed and you ask me how I’m doing?” She leans back in what he presumes to be an uncomfortable, plastic chair and looks at him in utter exasperation. In between her knees, her hands are clasped together; he wishes that she would reach out to him and intertwine their fingers. Though she’s in front of him, real and alive and speaking, he wants her touch to ensure that she won’t slip out of his grasp again. 

Finally, she sighs, slumping backward as the energy seemingly leaves her body in one exhale. “Yeah, I’m fine. Have you to thank for that. If you hadn’t pushed me out of the way, I’d be without a head right now. So – thank you.” She laughs uncomfortably, shifting in her discomfort; though he can’t feel any pain with the amount of medicine in his veins, he remembers the bloody, nasty wound Krennic had put in his shoulder. “I’m not as bad off as you are, though. The doctors fixed up my legs easy, but I gotta wear these stupid things for a while.” 

His attention goes to her legs, especially when she hauls one of them up off the floor and kicks it onto his bed. Once she tugs up the pant leg of the sex costume, he can see the braces on her ankles and knees; considering that she already seems disgruntled with the prospect of keeping them on as long as she has already. He’ll have to keep a close eye on her to ensure that she’s wearing them in the coming weeks. . .that is, of course, if she decides to keep him in her life now that the job is over. 

That’s a sobering thought, one that he hasn’t considered yet. Even though he loves her (and he suspects she feels the same for him), that doesn’t mean that they’re going to continue to stay together. He wants to – stars, he wants to – but doesn’t want to say anything in case she doesn't feel the same. No, he’s going to wait for a little and better gauge her interest so it doesn’t appear as if he’s pressuring her to do something she doesn’t want to do. It would kill him to leave her, but if that’s what she wants, so be it. 

(He loves her so much that he’ll do anything to keep her happy.)

“How long have I been out?” he asks abruptly, cutting himself off before he spirals down into a hole with Jyn sitting in the room. Judging by her appearance, he guesses that it’s been more than a couple hours; she always looks beautiful to him, but her greasy, tossed-up hair and dark circles under her eyes speak of a long time without showering or sleeping. Another possibility occurs to him. “Have you been here the entire time?” 

That would explain the sex costume and her general raggedness. If she had gone back to either of their apartments, she would have changed and washed-up before returning to the hospital. Since she’s not in her hospital-issued gown, he can only assume that she’s been released already. 

His heart swells in his chest, growing bigger and bigger until it feels like he’ll burst. He gets confirmation of his suspicions when she looks away bashfully, red coloring her cheeks, and in the way she decides to only answer his first question and ignore the other. 

“You were out all night,” she says, glancing up at the ceiling. For an experienced liar, she has quite a number of tells – though he has to wonder if anyone else knows her the way that he does. “It’s the morning now, almost afternoon. It’s been. . .” she chews on her lower lip, fidgeting. “It’s been touch and go, Cass. In the beginning, they weren’t sure if you were going to make it.” 

It’s clear that Jyn hadn’t been sure he would make it, either. He swallows, not positive if he really wants to know the answer but needing to ask anyway. What couldn’t the doctors fix? What bones are permanently broken? It’s his back that worries him the most, second only to his old leg injury; that, he thinks, is likely beyond repair. “What is the extent of my injuries?” 

She frowns, leaning back in her chair. Her arms cross over her chest, eyebrows pulling together. “You’re better now, so why does it matter?” 

“I would rather have you tell me than a doctor.” Though it’s clearly a touchy subject, one that she doesn’t want to speak about with him, he pushes anyway. “Please, Jyn. I need to know.” 

“It’s pretty much what you would expect from falling off a building.” 

He watches as she detaches herself from what's happened to him, reporting the wounds as if they’ve happened to someone she doesn’t know or care about – a body, not a man. Not him. “Five ribs were broken badly, hairline fractures in pretty much the rest of them. Minor concussion, with cuts and bruises all over the body. Dislocated hip that shouldn’t have been walked on, but – ” she shrugs a shoulder indifferently; they both know he hadn’t had a choice. 

“Your back. . .I didn’t understand much of what the doctors said. Just that it took them a long time to fix in surgery. But you’ll be able to walk again,” she’s quick to explain, likely by the fear slipping through in his eyes. “It’ll just take time. I have to do a little physical therapy too, so. . .” she trails off, meeting his gaze uncertainly. “Maybe we could go together?” 

He would like nothing more. A genuine smile tugs at the corner of his lips, eyes softening. Though there’s no way Jyn will have to do as much as him to rehabilitate, he won’t deny himself the opportunity to spend time in her presence – especially if she’s offering. “I would like that.” 

They sit in companionable silence – broken only by the beeping of the heart rate monitor – before Jyn sits up straight and curses. “Fuck, I should have asked earlier. Do you need anything? Are you in pain? I can call the nurse, I should probably tell them that you’re awake. . .” 

“Shh,” he soothes, interrupting her rambling and patting the small, open space next to him on the bed. It’ll be tight, and the jostling will probably hurt despite how drugged he is, but it’s a price he’s willing to pay in order to have her closer to him. “You can call them in a minute. I just want to sit with you for a little.” 

“I don’t want to crowd you.” 

“Come on,” he repeats, patting the bed more insistently. “That chair isn’t comfortable and I know you’re tired – I can see it on your face.” 

“Stop using your spy senses on me,” she scowls but gets up anyway. She hesitates at the foot of his bed. “You have to tell me if I hurt you, okay?” 

“I will.” He won’t.

Carefully, she climbs into the small cot and curls up next to him. She avoids touching him as much as she can, not wanting to put any pressure on his number of wounds. However, she does bump his uninjured leg gently, pressing her thigh against his; he reaches over and grasps her hand with his free one, rubbing his thumb over her scarred knuckles in a back and forth rhythm. 

Eventually, both of their breathing evens out. Exhausted despite not doing anything, Cassian’s eyes begin to slip closed, the darkness encroaching on his vision. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispers quietly, face half-turned into the pillows. He pretends he doesn’t hear her. “I love you, Cassian. So, so much. If you had died. . .” 

She doesn’t finish the thought, just exhales a shuddering breath. Not wanting her to go down that spiraling train of thought (because he’s here, he’s alive, he hasn’t died), he squeezes her hand gently to let her know that none of that has happened. 

Though she doesn’t respond, he knows that the message has been received when a small smile graces her lips. 

* * *

It’s a couple more weeks before he’s released from the hospital. 

Despite having a job and responsibilities of her own, Jyn manages to visit almost every day, even if it’s just for ten minutes. It quickly becomes the highpoint of his hospital stay, making him all the more eager to heal and get the hell out of there. It’s not that he hadn’t worked hard in his physical therapy before Scarif, but he never had quite a motivation as he does now. He pushes himself to go above and beyond if only to see Jyn more than just a glimpse a few times a week. 

(He wants to live with her again, to see her for hours instead of minutes, to stare instead of glimpse. He can only hope that she wants that, too.)

The day he’s released, he insists on walking out the front doors on his own two feet, aided only by a pair of crutches. Jyn and Bodhi stand on the other side of the sliding door – her brother with phone recording him and Jyn with a big bouquet of flowers. As he crosses the threshold, they’re cheering and laughing so loudly that he can’t help but join in. Sparks explode throughout his chest, cheeks hurting from the grin on his face. He can’t remember the last time he’d felt so giddy. 

They all pile into Bodhi’s car, folding up his wheelchair and shoving it in the trunk. Jyn sits in the backseat with him, letting him take up all the room he needs when propping up his leg without complaint. As they drive through the streets, chatting amicably, his foot works its way into her lap. Without looking in his direction, her hand settles on top of it, thumb stroking lines up and down his ankle. 

Bodhi leaves them at Cassian’s apartment with a cheerful wave and an insistence to call if they need anything. Watching until his car drives out of sight, he turns to Jyn only to see her scuffing her foot on the ground, pointedly looking at his face but not meeting his gaze when he tries and fails to catch her eye.

Though his legs are beginning to ache from moving so much, he ignores it and leans forward on his crutches. “Hey,” he says. “What’s up?” 

“What do you mean, ‘what’s up?’” 

All right. If she wants to play coy and pretend that nothing’s wrong, then he’ll indulge her. “I can tell that something’s bothering you,” he pushes gently. “I know you, Jyn. I can read you better than most people.” 

She sighs, chews on a hangnail on her thumb. “I’ll tell you once we get up to your apartment,” she decides after a beat, taking one of his arms in hers and leading him forward towards the door. He follows, leaning some of his weight on her. “Come on.” 

Jyn doesn’t say anything else on the way up, but he doesn’t push. She helps him in and out of the elevator, supporting him with one arm and holding his stuff in the other. Unlocking the door with the practiced ease of someone who’s done it a dozen times, he realizes what she’d been worrying about once he crosses the threshold. 

She has completely taken over his apartment. 

Jyn isn’t a messy person – she doesn’t have enough stuff for it to become clutter – but she is disorganized. There’s a pile of her clothes half-in, half-out of his laundry basket, her hair-ties thrown across the kitchen counter, her shoes scattered in the front closet instead of in the neat rows he prefers them to be. She had been living with him ever since the attack on her apartment, yes, but now it appears as if she’s decided to move in. 

Which. . .

He turns to her, fighting down the amusement that’s shining through the cracks in his blank, spy face. The corners of his mouth quirk up, eyes crinkled. She meets his look with a defiant raise of her chin, but there’s redness blooming in her cheeks and uncertainty in her gaze. 

“Jyn,” he says very gently. If not for his crutches, he would have reached out and cupped her cheek in the way he knows has her melting him into him. “Is this what you were worried about?” 

“No,” she lies. 

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” he says, trying not to betray his enthusiasm. At her look of confusion, he elaborates. “If you decided to stick around and stay for a while.” 

“Not used to that,” she mutters. “People sticking around when things go bad.” 

“Things have gone to hell and I’m still here.” 

It’s almost as if those specific words click in her mind; she meets his eyes then, looking at him in a new light. “Well,” she says slowly. “My lease is up in a few weeks. And most of my stuff is already here.” 

It’s not a promise or an explicit statement of what’s to come, but a discussion to return to in the future. He’s been so unsure the past few weeks about the status of their relationship that this is better than anything he could have imagined. Even though he hasn’t been here, she’s decided to live in his apartment instead of her’s. 

A grin nearly splits his face in half for the second time again, adoringly staring down at her. Every day he falls a little more in love with her. “I would like nothing more than to continue to stick around, then.” 

* * *

Though Cassian’s not one hundred percent yet, he insists on going back to the precinct to catch up on his paperwork. Due to all that she’s put him through, Jyn indulges him with this small request – on the condition that she gets to come along with him. She has a few choice words she wants to say to Draven, anyway. 

Alongside that, she manages to convince Cassian not to drive. He’s not technically supposed to before his ribs and back heal, but he still tries to push it with her. Something about how she’s injured too, blah blah blah. She blocks it out and strong arms herself in the driver's seat; if anything, he only looks amused 

It’s been a while since she’s been behind the wheel – she doesn’t have a legal license but that’s never stopped her – so she errs on the side of caution because she’s not alone in the car. Her days of street racing and speeding away from the cops are over; she drives exactly the speed limit – sometimes a few miles below it – and just scowls when he calls her a grandma for it. 

“Captain Andor,” Draven says warmly when they enter his office. A few weeks ago, the general had visited Cassian in the hospital and Jyn had the unfortunate luck of being there as well. “It’s good to see you up on your feet again.” 

“Great to see you too, Draven,” Jyn retorts but even she can’t put too much acid in her tone, not with the genuine fondness that the other man seems to have at the amount of progress Cassian has made so far. 

“Sir,” Cassian says with a respect tilt of his head. “I just wanted to stop in and grab some work to do at home.” 

That’s the understatement of the century – she knows he would stay as late as possible if he thought he wouldn’t be caught; at his side, Jyn snorts with a shake of her head. Cassian shoots her a look, Draven glares, and she looks entirely unabashed. 

“That’s not necessary, Captain,” Draven interrupts, waving a hand. “You don’t have to work until you’ve recovered. Now sit before you fall over. There are a few matters of business that we should go over before you both leave.” 

Cassian does as ordered immediately, Jyn following a few seconds later and taking a seat at his side. Naturally, he opens his mouth to argue – likely something about how he’s feeling well enough to do work and can start coming back to the precinct again – but Draven cuts him off before he can begin. “I must admit, I am surprised that the Scarif mission succeeded. Even if the department had decided to go along with your plan, the chance of success was abysmal.” 

She leans back in her chair, frowning. It’s hard not to be pissed at someone who went back on their word, especially for a mission as important as this one. “Remind us again why you decided to be an asshole and go back on your word?” 

“We couldn’t risk getting involved with the Empire in case it went poorly,” he replies evenly, spreading his hands out on his desk. “And since your father turned himself in, we had enough evidence to start building up a case _without_ your reckless operation.” 

At the mention of her father, she scowls; he doesn’t need to rub it in. “Would have been less reckless if we had more than a handful of people working on it.” 

Sensing that this is about to turn into an argument, Cassian cuts in. “Leia Organa informed me that she sent you the documents we downloaded from Krennic’s office.” 

“Yes, I received them,” he replies. “The department will be assisting Senator Organa in the investigation. Believe me, I have no love for the Empire.” 

That’s ironic, considering the lack of action he’d taken in assisting them at Scarif. She scowls, a biting comment on her lips that she just barely manages to hold back; despite the success of the mission, this will be a grudge she’ll hold for a long time (if not the rest of her life). 

“Does that mean Cassian and Kay won’t get in trouble for going rogue?” Jyn asks instead, focusing her attention on more pressing issues. “Would be a bit hypocritical of you to punish them for it, don’t you think?” 

To his credit, Draven doesn’t rise to meet her barb. “No, there will not be consequences for any of you considering the outcome. However,” he pauses, steeples his fingers together, “any unsanctioned missions in the future will be punished accordingly.” 

“I appreciate that, sir,” Cassian says. “Though I can’t say it won’t happen again or that I regret it.” 

“I don’t expect you to, captain. I prefer a man who can think for himself than a loyal drone. Just understand that I will not be as lenient in the future.” 

“Understood.” 

There’s one other thing Jyn needs from Draven; just because the heist is over doesn’t mean she’s ending her involvement in the situation. “I don’t care if it’s not in my contract, I want to help with Krennic’s arrest.” She pauses. “You are going to arrest him, right?” 

Even if it means rehashing her childhood traumas on the witness stand, she’ll testify against him if that’s what it takes to land him in prison. It’ll be tough, but one glance at Cassian tells her she’ll have one hell of a support system if that’s the path that they decide to follow. 

“It is currently in the works, yes,” he says. “And speaking of your contract – ” 

A wave of fear washes over her. She’d done everything right – besides the Scarif mission, she’s followed almost every rule they’ve given her. He can’t – well, he _could_ – but there’s no reason for him to end it and send her back to prison. Her muscles tense, ready to jump out of her chair and argue, but Cassian lays a comforting hand on her thigh before she can do anything rash. 

“Sir, it wouldn’t be fair to punish her if Kay and I aren’t held accountable as well. I was just as involved in planning the operation as she was. It’s only fair that whatever punishment you’re about to dole out to her applies to me as well.” 

There’s a spark of amusement in Draven’s eyes that makes her want to strangle him until he opens his mouth to speak. “I suppose this will come as a surprise to you, then. I want to offer you a job, Miss Erso.” 

Her mouth drops – she can’t help it. It’s so out of the left-field, so unexpected that she barely knows how to react. For a few seconds, she’s essentially speechless as her brain short circuits and rewires itself. She’s not going back to prison. “You – _what?”_

“The work you have done for the department thus far has been exceptional. You have gone above and beyond what was expected of you. I would like to reward you for it. It will be a pain to amend your contract, but I’m sure we can figure something out, yes?” 

Jyn blinks. “Change it how? Pretty sure you can’t just toss it out the window and start fresh.” 

For a second, she swears she sees Draven smile before it’s wiped off his face; he’s shown more emotion in the past few minutes than she’s ever seen him before. “Not much will change. Because of the nature of the contract, you will be required to work as an informant for the length of your prison sentence. However, I will see to it that you are fairly compensated for the work you have done and what you will do in the future.” 

“Well, fuck me,” Jyn says finally, sagging back in her chair. Cassian looks similarly stunned. 

“It’s not all good, Miss Erso,” Draven replies dryly. “With Captain Andor splitting his hours between the precinct and his recovery, you will also be working part-time with Detective Tuesso.” 

As Cassian chuckles at her predicament, Jyn drops her head into her hands and groans. 

* * *

“I cannot tell you how happy I am to be done,” Jyn crows, ripping off her leg braces as soon as they get through the door. They’re flung to two separate corners of the apartment, but he’ll pick them up later. “Therapy is a pain in the ass. I don’t know _how_ you’ve dealt with it for so long!” 

With Jyn’s encouragement, it's much easier to work up the motivation, but he doesn’t say that. Instead, he loops an arm around her waist and tugs her to his side, kissing her hair. “I’m proud of you,” he murmurs. “You did a good job.” 

At the compliment, she flushes and pulls away half-heartedly. “Don’t think that this means you’re off the hook,” she retorts, poking her finger at his chest like a disgruntled grandma. “I’m still coming with you to make sure you actually go.” 

He doesn’t enjoy physical therapy – her presence has made it infinitely better – but he hasn’t even considered not going. He wants to get better, both physically and mentally, for Jyn. Still, he’s willing to play up the façade if it means he gets to spend more time with her. 

“You got me,” he chuckles dryly, bumping her shoulder with his. His legs are beginning to ache, bearable but he’s not going to put himself through unnecessary pain if he doesn’t have to; now down to one crutch, he shuffles into the living room and takes a seat in his recliner. “I’m not going to go unless you make me.” 

“Oh?” One of her eyebrows raises as she saunters over him, swinging her hips suggestively. There’s a new flirty tone that’s entered her voice. Gently, she climbs into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. He gulps when she leans over him, fringe brushing against his face. “Y’know, I might just take you up on that.” 

Her core grinds against his pointedly; when she captures his lips with her own, he can’t help but gasp into her mouth. “Jyn, wait, wait – ” At the warning note in his tone, she backs off immediately, looking concerned. He explains quickly, “The doctor hasn’t cleared me for vigorous physical activity yet.”

“Rigorous, huh?” There’s a suspicious glint in her eyes. _“Well,”_ she draws out the word, “we don’t have to _fuck.”_

Despite her words, she rolls her hips once again. He groans, head falling back against the chair and closing his eyes. “Believe me, Jyn, I want to – ” 

“Let me do all the work,” she interrupts, leaning forward and beginning to nip down the column of his neck, kissing and marking him up as she goes. It takes all his willpower to stay still underneath her hands, to stay pliant and let her work. “Let me make _love_ to you, Captain Andor.” 

“Anyone ever told you, ah, how persuasive you can be?” he mutters, resting his hands on her lower back and tugging her to him. 

She grins, tilting her head down to kiss him and nipping at his bottom lip. “Maybe a couple of times, yeah.” 

* * *

Jyn sits without a word. Grabs the telephone off the wall and avoids the face behind the glass, choosing instead to stare at her reflection. She looks good, all things considering, if not a little haggard. Certainly not as bad as the glimpses she’s caught at her father’s appearance. 

“Stardust,” he greets warmly once she picks up the phone and puts it to her ear. She doesn’t have the heart to correct him nor snap at the use of the nickname, not after all he’s done for her. “It’s good to see you. How are you doing? How’s Bodhi?” 

This is the first time she’s come to see him since he’s turned himself in to ensure her freedom. Any excuse she could come up with to avoid going to see him she’s used; she’s been a coward, unable to face what is probably her biggest demon. She hasn’t forgiven him for what he’s done, but she’s finally decided to give it a go. As Cassian had reassured her, she can leave at any time. The door is behind her, open and unlocked. She’s not trapped, not anymore, never again. 

“I’m good. Bodhi’s good, too.” She hesitates, chewing her lower lip as she struggles to keep her voice even, to think of what she wants to say next. “We got the information about the plans. I’m working with the police to start putting together a case against Krennic.” 

He smiles back at her once she meets his gaze through the glass, but the light of happiness and pride doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Jyn wonders, not for the first time, what the relationship between her father and the man in white used to be. “I’m so proud of you,” he tells her and she thinks it’s genuine. “I was worried. How’s Cassian? The rest of the team? Did everyone make it out all right?” 

Cassian’s a safe topic – she can talk about the man she loves for hours and hours. “He fell from the top of the building,” she explains. “Hurt his back and leg pretty badly, but we’re working on recovery together. He’s doing good. Better every day.” 

“You know,” he starts, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. “The two of you seemed close when I met him.” 

Jyn scowls, crossing her arms. She could see where this is going a mile away but indulges him. “Don’t you go making any assumptions.” 

“I’m not doing anything of that sort,” he protests, holding up his free hand in surrender. “But if you two were. . .ah, close. . .I wanted to let you know that I like him. And that your mother would have liked him, too.” 

That makes her strangely emotional, sadness bubbling up in her chest. Tentatively, she asks in a hushed whisper, “You think?” 

“No, I don’t just think,” he says with a sad smile, likely overwhelmed with memories of Lyra as Jyn currently is. “I know, Jyn. I _know_ that she would have loved him and I _know_ that she would be proud of you – just as I am.” 

Abruptly, Jyn stands, ignoring her father’s crestfallen look at she does. “I have to go,” she blurts out, tears blurring her vision. “I need to – to use the bathroom, but I’ll come back. I just need a minute.” 

“Of course, Stardust.” 

The phone clatters from her hand onto the table as she rushes from the scene. Once she’s alone and in the privacy of a stall, Jyn breaks down. 

* * *

Jyn bursts through the door after her chat with her father, chest heaving from the exertion of running up the flights of stairs to his – _their_ – apartment. There’s a wild, frenzied look in her expression, desperation on her lips. “Cassian!” 

Startled, Cassian springs up from the chair he was sitting in. Panic is written all across his face as he rushes over to her, checking for evidence of physical injury or harm. “Jyn? What’s wrong?” 

She marches over to him and tugs him down roughly to give him a passionate kiss, pressing at his lips with her tongue, pulling him closer and closer until their chests are pressed together. 

Panting, she breathes out against his mouth, “I love you. I fucking love you, Cassian Andor.” 

He freezes above her, breaking the kiss to stare down at her incredulously. Hope shimmers in his eyes. “What?” 

“I love you,” she repeats, not even upset about having to rehash her feelings like this. She’ll say it a million times, will scream it from the rooftops. “I _love_ you. So much.” 

Cassian breathes out ruggedly, leaning down and resting his forehead against hers. “I never thought I would get to hear you say that,” he murmurs, voice cracking. “I love you too, Jyn. I will always love you. I love you, I love you, I love – ” 

Laughing in pure happiness, Jyn interrupts him with a giddy kiss. It’s messy and unpracticed because neither of them can stop smiling, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally cannot believe that this is over. when i started this fic in the summer, i had a vague idea of what would happen but that's it. now it's a 100k + monster and i would never have it any other way. the reason i've kept at it so hard is because of the constant love and support from you guys. thank you so so much for everything
> 
> my writing plans for the future will probably be short prompt fills and oneshots. feel free to send me requests on tumblr @[athalar](https://athalar.tumblr.com)! my askbox is always open for requests but no promises on when it'll get filled 😂
> 
> i DO plan to write a few more things in this verse! i wanna dive deep into krennic's trial as well as doing something where jyn helps cassian find his sister. if you have anything you'd like to see, feel free to leave it down below too!
> 
> again, thank you all so much. i couldn't have done it without you


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